


let's take a ride, run with the dogs tonight

by notquitepunkrock



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (not important to plot and not graphic by any means), (sort of? I guess?), Alternate Universe - Babysitters, Alternate Universe - High School, Andy is the mom friend, Babysitter Patrick Stump, Car Accidents, Cute, Cute Kids, Dog Walker Pete Wentz, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hospitals, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Joe Trohman: Matchmaker Extraordinare, M/M, Mikey Way is like 12, Mutual Pining, Peterick, Puppies, Referenced Bullying, Saint/Bronx are Pete's brothers, Strangers to Lovers, This is trash, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, dog walker au, this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, why do I always make Brendon really hyper I don't understand, yall had to know angst would find its way in /somehow/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is seventeen, and has been walking the neighborhood's dogs for years, so it's absolutely hilarious (meaning, not hilarious at all) that his parents don't think he's responsible enough to watch his little brothers for a night. Enter Patrick Stump, sixteen and one of the best babysitters in the neighborhood. One night of babysitting Saint and Bronx turns into a friendship that could lead to something more...</p><p>Aka the Dog Walker/Babysitter AU that literally nobody asked for with the world's most cliche summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: starts multichap fic in my (angsty af) series  
> My Brain: hoe don't do it  
> Me: *starts fluffy Peterick AU fic*  
> My Brain: Oh my God
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Suburbia by Pet Shop Boys

_**PETE** _

Pete had been practically forced into walking dogs when he was thirteen, and now, four years later, he was pretty well know in his neighborhood as  _ the  _ dog walker to hire. His name was given to everyone who moved in, whether they had a dog or not, and it was pretty universally accepted that he was a good guy who wouldn’t steal your shit or forget to take your dog out, regardless of how he looked. 

It had started when the Orzechowskis next door were going to Disney World for spring break, and Sarah, who was two years younger than him and had the biggest brown eyes that Pete had ever seen, had been reluctant to let her friend, Brendon, watch her little dog for a week.

Pete’s parents had volunteered him for the job, and apparently he was more trustworthy than, the admittedly kind of scatter-brained, Brendon Urie. (The fact that he was thirteen and Brendon was only eleven also helped.) They gave him twenty bucks a day to feed and walk Penny the Boston Terrier for five days, and, seeing as he was thirteen and saving up for a bass guitar, he’d jumped on it.

By the time Sarah came back, Penny Lane was a little obsessed with Pete, and word began to spread about how good he was with dogs. Offers slowly came in, and he had taken them happily, because he had always wanted a dog, but his parents had said no, seeing as he had one (and now two) baby brothers who were kind of handful.

Sweet Pea Iero, one of his friend Frank’s small army of dogs, was his most constant companion, as well as Penny and Brendon’s dog, Bogart. Pretty much everyone in the neighborhood entrusted him with the wellbeing of their canine companions at some point or another. Which was why he couldn’t understand why his parents insisted on getting a babysitter for Bronx and Saint.

“Seriously? You’re basically getting  _ me  _ a babysitter,” he complained when they first informed him that they were hiring someone else to watch the boys. 

“Patrick has no jurisdiction over you,” his mother said, rolling her eyes as she carefully applied mascara. “Feel free to go out tonight after you walk Penny - I heard Sarah’s going to invite Brendon, Dallon, and Breezy over, maybe you could tag along.”

“And fifth wheel? No thanks,” he scoffed, reaching down to pick up Saint from the floor. “Seriously, Mom, I’ve watch Bronx before!”

His mother sighed, pursing her lips. “That was without a baby around, Pete,” she reminded him. “And, try as you might, you can’t change diapers for the life of you.” Pete frowned. She was right, unfortunately. He was next to hopeless with babies.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” he huffed, standing from where he had settled on the bed. He carefully placed Saint on the floor again, who immediately became transfixed by a teddy bear by his mother’s feet. “I have to go walk the dogs.”

He made his way to the door, nodding as his mother reminded him that the babysitter would be here by the time he got back and would be there until they returned sometime in the afternoon. Pete, however, had already decided he wouldn’t be back. He was going to force himself onto Andy for the night, until long after the babysitter left. He refused to be babysat like he was some little kid. 

His walk with Sweet Pea, Penny, and Bogart was easy, as always. Over the years, the three small dogs had become good friends, though they were nothing alike. Sweet Pea might as well have been a fucking sheep, she was so wiry and wooly, and honestly she didn’t look anything like a chihuahua, but she had the chillest attitude and acted like a fucking queen. Penny was kind of hyper, but still sweet as can be, despite the fact that Sarah spoiled her absolutely rotten. And then there was Bogart, the adorable Jack Russell Terrier that never seemed to stop fucking  _ jumping _ . He basically mirrored Brendon’s hyper personality almost exactly, and the little dog loved doing flips and yapping away almost as much as his owner. 

He tapped his foot as Bogart and Penny sniffed at someone’s mailbox. (Sweet Pea pulled on her leash impatiently, apparently unimpressed with whatever they smelled.) Idly, Pete wondered why Brendon didn’t walk his own dog. Sarah and Frank, at least, had excuses - Frank was a saxophone in the marching band, (nerd that he was) and Sarah was a cheerleader (fulfilling almost every pretty, rich girl stereotype, except she was nice, and also aggressively bisexual.) Brendon was nothing, except maybe lazy.

The dogs were exceptionally calm that day, perhaps sensing Pete’s bad mood, and he was able to return them to their owners with little-to-no fanfare. The Ieros and the Orzechowskis paid him, seeing as it was Friday, and Pete felt very rich because of this. (Brendon had forgotten, but he promised to come by Pete’s house in the morning. The kid might be lazy, but he was honest and not particularly forgetful, so Pete was inclined to believe him.)

He went off to Andy’s house after, not even bothering to stop at home for anything he might need. Andy opened his front door in the middle of rolling his eyes. “Hi, Pete, how nice of you to call first,” he teased, but the short boy knew he didn’t mean it.

“Shut up, I was walking the dogs,” he replied, elbowing his way past him and into the foyer. 

“Ah, yes, the glamorous job that has you carrying bags of shit around every day,” Joe joked, coming up the hall from behind Andy. His long, curly hair flopped in front of his face. Pete rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“But I’m fucking rich now,” he pointed out, holding up his wallet as proof. “Let’s go to the movies - I’ll pay.”

Andy raised his eyebrows. “Gabe’s band is playing a gig tonight, I said we’d go,” he stated, reaching for a jacket that hung by the door. Joe and Pete both pouted - they wanted to see the new Disney movie, and Andy knew it - and he looked to the ceiling with a long-suffering expression on his face. “It’s at Trixie’s,” he sighed, already regretting this decision. 

Pete’s eyes lit up and he reached up to grab Joe’s jacket and throw it at him. “Let’s go,” he grinned, already anticipating their trip to the only bar in town that never carded. Getting drunk off his ass sounded like a way better Friday night plan than a Disney movie with his friends. (Okay, maybe not, but it had been awhile since he and Joe had convinced Andy to go to the bar with them, and he was all for taking full advantage.)

They piled into Andy’s car and headed for Midtown, the - to use Pete’s father’s words, the hip hangout for college and high school kids - where Trixie’s was located. Andy seemed to already be regretting his decision, based on the sheer number of looks sent heavenward as they chattered away. Pete laughed at one that was particularly dramatic. “You love us,” he announced, smiling brightly. Andy sighed.

“Unfortunately,” he replied, but he had a small smile on his face as he pulled into the slightly rundown parking lot of Trixie’s Pub. 

Pete didn’t remember much from that night after the fact. It all melded into a blur of faces and a crush of sweaty bodies in the dimly lit room, rocking out to Cobra Starship. Gabe had been deliriously happy, on a high after a killer gig, and bought his band and his friends three rounds of drinks. Pete accepted happily, and hours later Andy was dragging him and Joe from the bar into the dark night.

“Are your parents home?” he asked Pete, after somehow shoving him into the backseat and buckling his seatbelt. Pete giggled, shaking his head. 

“Uh-uh,” he grinned. “Some big fancy party tonight or some shit. They got Saint and Bronx a sitter. Funny, huh?” 

Andy pursed his lips, swatting a pack of cigarettes out of Joe’s hand with a pointed look. “No smoking while you’re intoxicated,” he warned, turning back to Pete. “Okay, I’m going to drop you off at home. You got your key?” 

Pete nodded, tapping at the keychain with keys for his home, as well as those of Frank, Brendon, and Sarah. “‘S’all good,” he slurred, before his face paled and he clutched his stomach. “Pull over, I don’ feel good.” 

Andy groaned. “You are  _ not  _ throwing up in my car,” he announced pulling to the side of the road. Pete pushed the door open with his shoulder and leaned out, not bothering to unbuckle his seatbelt before he threw up on the grass. There was silence, and then Andy was handing him a bottle of water and tissues to clean out his mouth and wipe off his face. Pete took a sip of the water, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make his head stop spinning.

“You okay, Wentz? Wentz-arino. Wentz away,” Joe asked, giggling at himself.

Pete nodded slowly, leaning back into his seat and shutting the door. “We’re good,” he announced to the car, nodding for Andy to drive. “Take me home, Hurley.”

Andy rolled his eyes and hit the gas, eyeing Pete suspiciously every few minutes with concern. Part of him didn't want to let the babysitter deal with Pete like this (with his luck, it'd end up being some freshman). A bigger part of him knew that Pete would prefer waking up in his own bed. He'd just make sure everything was handled before he left him there with some strange teenager.

Things would be fine, he decided, pulling up in front of Pete's house. Andy sent a glance towards Joe - he was passed out with his head resting on the window and a small river of drool connecting from his mouth to his jacket - before climbing out of the car to practically carry Pete to the house. This would be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated, I am proud of me. Also, I had Helpless from Hamilton stuck in my head as I wrote the last bit of this. Just a random fact.

_**PATRICK** _

Patrick knocked hesitantly on the door to the Wentz’s home. He knew the family was fairly well off, better than most in the area, and was sure that they would be severely unimpressed when they saw their babysitter standing before them in old jeans and a ratty jacket over his t-shirt. (He wanted to dress better, honestly, but they had a baby, and babies did not care how well you were dressed. They would still end up spitting up on you.)

The door swung open and Peter Wentz II smiled at him with kind eyes. “You must be Patrick,” he said, attempting to adjust the tie that was hanging loosely from his neck. “Come on in, I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Patrick blinked in surprise and stepped into the house, which was cozier than he had expected it to be. He’d expected to be sleeping on the couch. There were toys all over the floor and Patrick nearly tripped over his a pair of Vans near the door, which he assumed belonged to their teenaged son, Pete. 

“I apologize for the mess, it’s hard to keep a house clean with three kids,” Mr. Wentz apologized, opening a door off of the hallway. “You can sleep in here. There’s a baby monitor, but Saint tends to sleep through the night, so there’s not much to worry about there. Bronx gets up fairly early, but I’m sure he’ll wake you if he needs anything… Pete probably won’t be around, but if he is, don’t worry about him - he’s a bit grumpy. Teenagers, you know?” The smile on the man’s face was pleasant, and Patrick decided not to remind him that he was only sixteen. He carefully placed his duffel bag on the bed, and followed the man back into the kitchen.

“Emergency numbers are on the fridge, feel free to eat whatever you find and use the television. We know this is a lot to ask of you, staying the night, but it’s so far to drive and there is sure to be alcohol,” he continued. Patrick was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped talking since he’d opened the door.

“It’s fine,” he managed, smiling a little. “Lindsey says Bronx is a sweetheart.” Not a total lie - his friend who volunteered at their old elementary school’s after-care program said that Bronx was great. She also said that he was a handful and joked that she would pray for him upon finding out he was babysitting for the Wentz family, but Patrick figured he’d keep that to himself.

“Hold on a second, let me introduce you,” Mr. Wentz said, turning towards the staircase and calling up. “Bronx, your babysitter is here!” 

A small boy with long, curly blond hair came barreling down the stairs. His socked feet slid to a halt on the tile floor, and he bounced on his toes at his father’s side. “Hi!” he grinned, puffing up his cheeks to blow a stray lock from his face. “What’s your name?”

Patrick smiled and held out his hand. In his (admittedly extensive) experience, kids liked when they were treated like adults. “I’m Patrick,” he grinned. “You must be Bronx.” 

Bronx nodded, shaking his hand with a delighted look on his face while his father looked on with a smile. Mrs. Wentz took that moment to appear, baby balanced on her hip. Even with her long, formal dress, she looked right at home with Saint in her arms. 

The next few minutes were spent with them going over the basic rules, and then they were rushing out the door. Patrick was left alone with a baby and a seven-year-old. He was in his element. 

Bronx tugged on Patrick’s jeans and he leaned down to look at the boy. “Can we watch The Lego Movie?” he asked, eyes wide. Patrick shrugged, adjusting Saint on his hip.

“Sure, if you guys own it,” he smiled. Bronx’s face lit up, and he took Patrick’s free hand to drag him into the living room. He carefully pushed him towards the couch and ran to a bookshelf filled with movies, scanning the titles before he found the one he wanted. 

“Pete  _ never  _ wants to watch Lego Movie with me,” he confided as Patrick placed Saint into a playpen. The baby gurgled happily, reaching to grab a block and gnaw on it. “Says he’s seen it a million times.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, watching as the boy tried to reach the DVD played near the top of the entertainment case, far above his head. He lifted the boy up to put the disc into the drawer, grinning at the small cheer he got in response. “Well, has he?” he asked, setting the boy back down. 

Bronx grinned cheekily back up at him. “A million and one,” he said, crawling onto the couch and pressing a button on the remote to turn the TV on. “He never  _ wants  _ to, but he does it anyway. He’s a good brother.” 

Patrick nodded, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “I haven’t seen the movie in awhile,” he said, conspiratorially. “The other kid I watch a lot, Mikey, doesn’t like it very much. The songs get stuck in his head.” 

Bronx nodded seriously, and Patrick smiled at the wise look on his little face. He peered into the playpen at Saint who gurgled happily at him. “Hey, Bronx, will you be okay in here while I go heat up dinner?” 

He nodded quickly, blond locks bouncing around his head. Patrick reached out to ruffle his hair, and he scrunched up his nose. “Pete does that too,” he said, sticking out his tongue, before he curled up in the corner of the couch.

Patrick leaned down to gather Saint into his arms and carried him to the kitchen, placing him in his high-chair with a handful of Cheerios to eat. He bustled around the room, pulling the pre-made spaghetti out of the fridge to heat in the microwave. When the food was ready, he carried the plates to the living room setting them on the coffee table before he returned for Saint. 

“Hey buddy,” he smiled, making a funny face. Saint giggled and grabbed for the plastic-rimmed glasses on his nose. Patrick ducked away, shaking his head. “I need those, kiddo. Sorry. Your mom said you already ate, too, so guess it’s just bouncer time,” he teased, carrying Saint into the living room to put him in his bouncer. He then settled onto the couch with Bronx, singing loudly along with him and the movie as the theme song played.

Bronx paused to gaze at him, fork stopped halfway between the plate and his mouth. “You’re a pretty good singer,” he said, nodding seriously. Patrick felt his face heat up, and shrugged with a little smile. “No, seriously,” Bronx pressed, frowning a little. “You’re maybe as good as Brendon is. He’s my brother’s friend, he’s a  _ real  _ good singer.”

“I’ll have to meet him sometime,” Patrick nodded, taking a bite of his spaghetti. “You seem to like your older brother a lot.”

Bronx nodded, pasta noodles sticking out of his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly in order to reply. “He’s really cool. He used to be in a band with one of his bestest friends, Andy, but they broke up. It’s okay though, because he’s around more. Some of the kids at school make fun of me ‘cause he’s not my  _ real  _ brother, but Mom says they’re just jealous ‘cause he’s so great. I think she’s right, because all of them have mean big siblings who pick on them a lot.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raised. “Pete’s not your real brother?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Bronx shook his head, making a little noise at the back of his throat.

“Me and Saint are ‘dopted,” he said, shrugging. “My birth momma was real young, and Saint’s was real sick and couldn’t take care of ‘im, so Mom and Daddy took us. I like ‘em a lot - I don’t even really remember my real mom.”

Patrick nodded, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair affectionately and turn back to the movie.

Long after the movie was over and both boys were in bed, Patrick found himself sitting on the couch in his sweatpants and a stained, stretched out t-shirt, working on an essay for class when there was a knock at the door, followed by whispered conversation. His head shot up from his laptop, and he frowned at the door, the knob of which had started to jiggle. It sounded like someone was fumbling with keys. Someone hissed out a shushing sound, and he stood slowly, padding to the door in his bear feet and unlocking it to peek out.

“Hello?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the two teenagers in front of him. One had what was clearly the beginnings of full sleeves of tattoos, and red hair, a small, apologetic smile on his face. The other was clearly drunk - his hair tousled, eyes were dazed, and his breath smelled like a bar. He vaguely recognized them, maybe from school. 

“You mus’ be the babysitter,” the shorter, drunk one said, giving him a look that Patrick supposed was supposed to be appraising. The boy holding him up covered his face with his hand for a moment and hoisted him a little higher. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“Don’t mind Pete, he’s stupid when he’s drunk,” the other said, rolling his eyes behind rectangular glasses. Patrick stepped back a little - this guy was oddly intimidating.

Pete made an indignant sound of protest, glaring at his friend with a small pout that made him, frankly, just plain cute. (Patrick prayed he wasn’t blushing. That would have been awkward.) “Hey, I’m stupid all the time,” he complained, folding the arm that wasn’t thrown over his friend’s shoulder over his chest. Patrick thought he might have been trying to cross his arms.

The other hummed a little in agreement, nodding at Pete before he turned back to Patrick. “I’m really sorry about this, but he got sick on the way here, and he’s a bit of a baby about being at home when he feels sick,” he smiled fondly at the shoulder boy who was humming under his breath. “I can take him back to my place, I know you’ve gotta watch the boys, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

Patrick realized he was staring at Pete - he was really hot, okay, give him a break - and shook himself mentally, turning to grin at the taller, tattooed boy. “Yeah, no, it’s fine,” he shrugged, stepping out of the doorway and opening it a bit wider for them to enter. “I mean, it is his house.”

“Thanks, sorry,” the boy said, half-dragging Pete in the door. “I’ll be right back.” He practically carried the shorter boy up the stairs, presumably to his room, returning a few minutes later with a tired smile.

“Everything okay?” Patrick asked, concern bubbling in his stomach. 

The other boy nodded, pulling a sheet of paper off a notepad on the wall and scribbling something on it. “Call me if you need any help, now or in the morning. Drunk Pete and Hungover Pete are both handfuls in their own way, it’s not fair to leave you stranded with one or both of them. My name’s Andy, by the way.”

Patrick nodded, taking the paper with his number and folding it carefully. He looked up when he was finished, narrowing his eyes a little at Andy. “Are  _ you  _ okay? You’re not drunk or anything, right?” 

Andy held up his hands and grinned, and the next time he spoke, Patrick realized how quiet his voice was. It didn’t seem to fit him, with his tattoos and muscles, but at the same time, it totally did. “I don’t drink or smoke or anything,” he said, “I’m good. Now I gotta go, our other friend is passed out in the car and I need to get him home. Call me if you need anything, kid.” With that he slipped outside, shutting the door behind him before Patrick could even protest being called a kid. 

Patrick shrugged, returning to the couch and pulling his laptop back into his lap. It was late, but he  _ really  _ needed to finish that essay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update! I finally did something with my lazy sick day, guys. Aren't you proud?
> 
> Note: I have never been hungover because I'm sixteen and a bit of a goody-two-shoes. I've only ever drank on holidays and occasionally a glass of wine at dinner (because Italian families) and champagne at my dad's wedding. I know nothing about hangovers.

**_PETE_ **

Pete groaned, yanking his blanket over his head as his phone went off. His eyes shut tight against the sunlight peeking through the window. It would shut up eventually, he just had to ignore it…

His stomach seemed to flip and he launched himself from his bed, half-sprinting to the bathroom down the hall. He made it to the toilet about two seconds before he puked his guts out, groaning and clutching at his head. “I should never drink again,” he mumbled and let his forehead rest on the rim of the bathtub beside him, relishing in the feeling of the cool porcelain against his heated skin. 

Someone cleared their throat from behind him, taking a cautious step into the bathroom. Pete glanced up and scowled when he saw the -cute- teenager standing over him with a glass in one hand. “You must be the babysitter,” he mumbled, not bothering to lift his head and introduce himself. He didn’t care enough to put himself through that pain.

“I am,” the kid agreed, kneeling carefully on the floor and sliding back until he was almost sitting beneath the sink. His reddish hair fell into his eyes and he held his hands out. “Ginger ale,” he said in response to the curious look that Pete gave the glass. “It helps a lot more than water.” Pete took the glass and gently sat up, wincing as his head throbbed at the movement. The boy handed over an aspirin as well and gave him a small smile before he stood up, disappearing down the hallway.

Pete took the aspirin and slowly sipped on the ginger ale, closing his eyes tightly against the light streaming in from the hallway. He was almost surprised he couldn’t hear the Bronx and Saint messing about, though he supposed that was what babysitters were for. Part of him still resented the younger teenager, but he’d been nice enough. 

That is, until Brendon came bounding up the stairs, money in hand. His pounding footsteps slowed as he reached the top, and he peered into the bathroom with a small grin. “I’ve got your pay,” he said, voice too bright and cheery for Pete at the moment. He grunted in pain and pressed a hand to his forehead to keep it from throbbing. 

“Why were you let into the house?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed. Brendon shrugged apologetically, sitting beside Pete on the floor and reaching out to gently rub the other boy’s back.

“I had your money,” he said. “Patrick knows me. How was I supposed to know you went out with Hurley and Trohman last night?” 

Pete groaned, sitting forward to take a tiny sip of his drink and fighting to keep it down. “Cobra was playing, we went to support Gabe,” he mumbled into the rim of the cup. Brendon shrugged.

“I know, but that didn’t mean you  _ had  _ to drink,” he chided him, and Pete was suddenly reminded he was being patronized by a fifteen-year-old. 

“Shut up,” Pete mumbled, eyes tightening as he heard Bronx laughing from the bottom of the stairs. “Is that my brother? Fuck, don’t let him in here.” 

Brendon grinned, hauling himself to his feet. “Right, you have fun with keeping the kid away from you. I’m going home. See ya this evening.” 

Pete groaned, leaning over to shut the bathroom door behind Brendon. He heard conversation on the staircase, and Bronx’s giggles slowly got further away. Pete smiled to himself a little, leaning back against the wall again. His eyes slid shut, and he - somehow - fell asleep on the hard floor of the bathroom.

A gentle knocking on the door woke Pete up. He was alarmed at first to find himself on the bathroom floor until he remembered how he got there. His head was hurting slightly less, probably because of the aspirin. With a small sigh of relief, he reached up to open the door a crack, peering out and making eye contact with somewhat unfamiliar blue-green eyes.

“You okay in there?” the babysitter - Brendon had said his name was Patrick, he thought - called, voice filled with concern. 

“I’m fine,” he said, and felt like maybe it was actually a little true. Patrick pushed the door open a little further, raising his eyebrows when he saw Pete slumped on the floor. His over-sized t-shirt was covered in crusty dried egg and his red hair had a few small ponytails sticking straight up, which looked entirely too adorable considering how ridiculous it was. “What happened to you?” (And, okay, maybe that came out meaner than it should have, but Pete was tired and hungover. So sue him.)

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red, and he reached up to touch one of the small ponytails. His eyes flickered down to the crusty yellow stains on his shirt and his face began to resemble a tomato. “I dropped my eggs,” he said quietly, pointing to his t-shirt. “And Bronx wanted to play with my hair, so this happened.”

Pete rolled his eyes, hauling himself off of the floor. “Why haven’t you changed shirts yet?” he asked as he used the doorframe to steady himself. The room was spinning, but not nearly as bad as he expected it to be. 

“I would rather wear a gross shirt then leave a kid and a baby alone for five minutes,” he shrugged, biting on his lower lip. “I’ve got enough experience to know that wouldn’t end well.”

Pete leaned down slowly and picked his cup up from the bathroom floor, taking tiny, tentative steps into the hallway. “Let me change real quick, and then I’ll watch them,” he said, heading for his room with its cheesy police taped to the door. 

Five minutes later, he had his teeth brushed and wandered down the stairs in a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized Green Day shirt with the sleeves cut off. Bronx was seated at the table with a coloring book, tongue stuck out in concentration as he worked on one of the pages. He looked up when he noticed his brother step into the room, a wide smile covering his face.

“Pete!” he cried, dropping his crayon and hurrying over to wrap his arms around the teenager’s waist. Pete groaned when he squeezed a little too tight, carefully detaching himself from the kid and giving him a kiss on the head before he ruffled his hair. 

“Hey, kiddo, what’re you coloring?” he asked, following the little boy as he pulled his brother to the table. Patrick appeared from the living room with Saint, depositing the baby in his high chair and smiling gratefully at Pete before he trudged up the stairs. 

Bronx chattered happily about his picture, pointing at each part and explaining why he chose the colors he did. Pete nodded, listening attentively as he made funny faces at Saint from across the room. When Patrick reappeared, wearing a new shirt, he smiled at the scene before him before settling across from Pete at the table. 

“Where’d you go last night?” Bronx asked suddenly, looking up at his brother with big eyes. Pete shrugged, leaning forward rest his chin in the palm of his hand.

“The guys and I saw Gabe’s band performing - you remember Gabe, don’t you?” he replied. Bronx nodded and smiled flipping the page in his coloring book and pushing it forward.

“Mhm, he was the tall guy with the purple hoodie and the pretty boyfriend,” he said matter-of-factly. Pete laughed, and he heard Patrick suppressing a snort by playing it off as a cough. “Will you guys color with me?” 

Pete looked up at Patrick, who shrugged and scooted his chair closer to Bronx’s end of the table. Pete took that as his cue and leaned over, picking up a green crayon as his brother carefully tore pages from his book, placing one in front of each of the boys with a hopeful look on his face. 

“Petey’s got a peacock because he used to have lotsa colors in his hair and he's got tattoos,” he said looking at Pete with a soft smile. “And ‘Trick’s got a bear because he reminds me of a teddy bear.”

Both boys blushed and set to work, nodding along with the very long story that Bronx began telling involving his classmates and a train.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait! I hope you like this, because I lowkey kinda like it? Also, I can't remember if Joe has a sister (I know he has a brother) and I just really like the way the Claire's scene played out so I didn't want to change it. So, as of this fic, he has a younger sister. Maybe I'll do what I did with Pete, and make her Ruby. I dunno. We'll see. She's unnamed as of yet, and not terribly important. So.
> 
> Warning for like, brief mentions of bullying, because I can't seem to write anything without angst. It shouldn't be a big thing throughout the fic, though, so don't worry about that.

**_PATRICK_ **

Patrick’s homework was spread out over his desk, but he was resolutely ignoring it, keeping the research for his History Fair project open in another tab as he scrolled through Tumblr. His mind wandered as he reblogged a gifset from the new Captain America movie, pausing only long enough to tag it as a spoiler before he continued mindlessly scrolling and liking his way down his dash. 

Gerard had texted about thirty minutes earlier, insisting Patrick’s presence was required to get Mikey to get out of a tree, not that he’d heard his phone go off. He did hear it the second time, however, as the vibrate made it move across the desk when Frank called. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing the phone and quickly answering the call.

“Patrick!” 

He winced a little, recognizing the desperate tone in the other boy’s voice. “What’s wrong, Frank?” he asked softly, half-listening for any sound that his mother had realized he wasn’t working his homework.

“I know it’s late, man, but you gotta help us out,” Frank said, and Patrick glanced at the clock on the top of his desk in alarm - how could it  _ already  _ be six? “Gee had tonight off so he was watching Mikey, and they went to the park and Mikey climbed a tree while Gee was drawing, and now it’s getting dark and Mikes is scared to come down.” 

Patrick’s frowned, turning in his chair to pull on his shoes. Frank’s breathing was labored, so he guessed the short boy had been running recently - not good for his lungs at all. “Okay, first, are you with Gee and Mikey?” he asked, waiting for Frank’s affirmative. When he gave it, he nodded, cradling the phone in between his ear and his shoulder. “Okay, you sit down and tell both of them to calm down. I’m assuming you’re at the neighborhood park. I’ll ride my bike and be there in, like, five.”

“You’re a life-saver, Stump,” Frank breathed. A soft noise in the background informing Patrick that he had sat down. “An actual angel.”

“You know it,” he grinned, tying his left shoe and standing up. “See ya soon.” He tucked his phone into his pocket after hanging up and paused in front of his bedroom door. As an afterthought, he grabbed his hoodie from his chair, then slipped out the door and walked down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet about it.

As expected, his mother poked her head into the hallway as he grabbed his keys, eyebrows drawn together. “Patrick? Where are you going? It’s nearly dinner time,” she said, sounding a little concerned. Patrick sighed, hooking his keychain onto his belt loop and looking at her over his shoulder.

“Gerard needs help with something. I’ll make it quick,” he promised, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. His mother frowned a little but nodded in understanding. 

“Don’t stay out too late, I’ll put leftovers in the fridge for you,” she agreed, nodding for him to go. Silently, Patrick thanked every god that he could think of that his mother adored the Ways. He slipped out the door, running to the side of the house to grab his bike before pedaling off towards the park.

When he reached it, the Ways and Frank were easy to spot, even in the quickly fading sunlight. Gerard’s shoulder-length hair and Frank’s bleached hair and mohawk gave them away, especially given the general suburban stereotype that everybody else in their neighborhood seemed to embody.

Gerard’s face screamed relief when Patrick cycled over, pointing helplessly at his little brother who was, sure enough, high in the tree behind him. Frank was still sitting underneath it, gazing up at Mikey with a small worried frown. His eyebrows were drawn together in a way that didn’t suit him at all, but he smiled when he saw Patrick approaching.

“Hey guys,” he said softly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Mikey waved down at him from the branches of the tree, feet dangling in the air and glasses sliding down his thin nose. “Mikey, how’d you get stuck?”

Mikey let go of the branch he was hugging with his left arm to cross his arms indignantly, a small frown on his face. “I’m not stuck,” he said. “I’m...enjoying the view.” 

Patrick laughed, smothering it with his hand when he saw Mikey was glaring at him from behind his glasses, though the smile fell when the boy almost fell backwards and grabbed at the branch beside him desperately. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,” he began, rubbing his hands together to keep them from going numb as the temperature dropped with the sun.

With Gerard and Frank’s help, he was able to coach the younger Way down the tree, and Gerard successfully caught him when he let go of the final branch. With his feet were safely on the ground, he gave Frank and Patrick awkward hugs and headed off to go watch the ducks while he waited for the older boys to talk. Frank followed him, offering the boy a stick of gum as they walked. 

“Sorry about this,” Gerard said, looking down at his feet. His long hair fell into his face and he pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his fingers awkwardly. “I just, Mikey listens to you better than he does me, and you seem to calm ‘im down so…” He shrugged awkwardly.

“That might be because I spend more time with your brother than you do,” Patrick muttered, hoping he wouldn’t offend Gerard. Luckily, (or maybe unluckily), the older Way just nodded, looking a little upset. 

“I know, and I hate that,” he said, kicking at a rock that was half-buried in the dirt. “Frankie says I’m too hard on myself about it, but I just wish he was a little more dependent on me, sometimes.”

Patrick frowned, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. “Hey, don’t do that,” he protested, glaring half-heartedly at his friend. “Mikey loves you, and God knows how much he depends on you already. It’s okay, Gee.” 

Gerard shrugged, running his hand through his hair before he straightened back up. “Thanks, Stumpy,” he teased, smiling in a way that revealed his small teeth. “It’s almost dark, you should probably head back home - don’t wanna get caught out late or the vampires’ll get ya.”

“Yeah okay,” Patrick agreed rolling his eyes. He started backing towards where he’d left his bike, and Gerard started to turn away, towards Frank and Mikey. “See you Tuesday.”

“Bye,” Gee called, before he began jogging over to his brother and his best friend. The trio offered Patrick one last wave before he headed home, where he was greeted by a darkened living room, the sound of snores from upstairs, and cold, leftover, store-bought fried chicken.

* * *

Patrick shivered, wrapping his arms around his torso. Joe’s car had a heater that was pretty on-and-off, and currently, it was very much  _ off _ . The chill outside, left over from a late night rainstorm, did nothing to help the cold that seemed to seep into his bones.

“Man, if you’re that cold, there’s a blanket in the back,” Joe offered, eyebrows raised and curls falling into his face as he glanced over at Patrick. Patrick looked into the backseat for a moment, but it was just as filled with junk as he remembered, so he scoffed and sat upright again.

“Where,” he deadpanned, a small smirk on his face. Joe held up a finger until they reached a stop sign, then put the car in park so he could turn and dig through the pile in the backseat. A few seconds and a possible avalanche of dirty clothes later, he pulled free a worn blue throw blanket decorated in baseballs and footballs, that Patrick vaguely recognized from their childhood.

“Here,” he said, throwing the blanket so it landed on Patrick’s head, draped over his hat like a very odd veil. 

“What was that for?” he asked, fighting it as it somehow tangled over the rim of his fedora and pulled the hat off of his hair. 

“It’s a  _ throw  _ blanket,” Joe laughed, shaking his head like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. 

Patrick just grumbled, finally detangling the hat and placing it back on his head with a pointed glare. “It’s not that funny, shut up,” he said when Joe kept laughing, a small smile beginning to form on his face. Joe’s laugh was fairly contagious, high or not, and soon his face hurt from smiling so hard.

“Thought… whoo, okay, that was intense… thought you said it wasn’t that funny,” Joe wheezed, pulling into a parking space in front of the mall. 

Patrick shrugged. “No but your face is,” he teased. 

Joe gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart and raising his eyebrows. “You wound me, Stump, you really do,” said in the most monotonous tone he could muster, a small smile quirking at the edges of his mouth. With that, Patrick rolled his eyes and both boys slid out of the car, feet hitting the tar of the parking lot with wet-sounding splats. 

“Where to first, Pat?” Joe asked as they approached the side entrance, shivering when the wind cut through his jacket. “Also this fall-winter hybrid shit needs to go die in a hole, it’s gross and lame.” 

Patrick grimaced at the nickname, shrugging his shoulders yanking the door open for his friend. “Not really sure a season can die,” he pointed out thoughtfully, glancing around at the storefronts surrounding them. “Isn’t it your sister’s birthday soon? Should we drop by Claire’s?” 

The face Joe made was amusing, one eye squinted and his tongue lolling out, but he nodded nonetheless and led the way to the pink and purple covered store with an almost surprising amount of ease. The lady at the cash register gave them a funny look and didn’t bother welcoming them to the store, watching them suspiciously as they began perusing the jewelry-covered walls. 

“This is all junk,” Joe pointed out, tapping on a pair of ‘best friends’ necklaces shaped like a burger and fries. “If I want to get her jewelry, I should get her something that’s not going to fall apart in ten seconds.”

“With what money?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows pointedly. He hated the way that Joe’s shoulders seemed to deflate a little, but pretended not to notice, too busy inspecting a One Direction charm bracelet. “She’s twelve and half of her room is covered in stuff from here. She’ll love it. Speaking of, does she like One Direction?” 

Joe frowned thoughtfully, shrugging a little. “Dunno. Maybe?” Patrick rolled his eyes and put the bracelet back on it’s hook, continuing to inspect the almost excessive amounts of jewelry in the small store. Eventually, they left Claire’s heading for the food court, where both boys made a bee-line to the pretzel stand. 

“So, I never asked,” Joe started, once they were seated by the fountain with their soft pretzels and cheese dip. “How was your babysitting job on Friday? New people right?” 

Patrick nodded, swallowing the pretzel in his mouth quickly and taking a sip of his drink before he answered. “Yeah, the kids were really cute. We watched Lego movie. The older one really liked me singing along,” he said, grinning at the memory of Bronx watching him  happily with wide eyes. “What about you, how was your weekend? I got enough texts to realize that you were hungover as shit, like, all of Saturday.”

“Went with a couple guys to see Cobra Starship at Trixie’s,” he offered as explanation. Patrick rolled his eyes, taking a large bite out of his pretzel. “It was pretty sick, Hurley had to drag us out when it got too late.” 

“Glad you had fun,” Patrick laughed. He took off his hat for a second to scratch at his head. In the brief moment that light fell onto his face, Joe noticed the slight discoloration under his eye. As he turned away, putting the fedora back on his head, Joe’s hand shot out and he grabbed his friend’s chin, forcing him to look his way.

He swiped a finger over the splotch, which he could now see was faintly covering the shorter boy’s left cheekbone. Patrick winced, and loose powder came away on Joe’s fingers. He frowned, wiping the concealer off on his jeans. 

“Who was it this time?” he sighed, hating the way Patrick’s cheeks colored and his eyes found the floor. 

“It was nobody, Joe, don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, taking a small sip of his drink. Joe frowned, not accepting the answer.

“Come on, man, we both know that’s a lie,” he protested, setting down the last few bites of his pretzel to clench his fists for just a moment. “It’s not like I’m gonna do anything to them, I just wanna know who decided it was okay to mess with you.” 

“Joe, they’re bigger than you.”

“I just said I wouldn’t do anything!” Joe pointed out, crossing his arms. “Patrick, it’s bad enough that you had to cover it up. Who’s make-up did you use this time? Your mom’s, or Megan’s?” 

“Megan’s, she offered,” he admitted, hunching his shoulders. “It’s Monday, they were probably having a bad day. Everyone has bad days on Mondays. I know I did, I bet you did too.” Joe looked indignant, pouting at the statement.

“Yeah, but not bad enough that I go around beating up innocent people!” he protested. “It’s not an excuse! Why are you excusing this?”

Patrick popped the last bite of his pretzel into his mouth and got to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans. “It’s not a big deal, Trohman, leave it alone,” he grumbled, starting to walk away. 

Joe scrambled to his feet, watching as Patrick walked faster. “Where are you going? I’m your ride!” he called. Patrick waved him off, disappearing around the corner. With a sigh, Joe shoved his pretzel into his mouth and pushed their trash into a garbage can. He turned on his heel and headed for the nearest escalator, making a beeline for the music store when he reached the second floor. He knew that Patrick would show up there eventually. He always did. 

“Idiot needs more friends,” he decided with a grumble, heading for the back where the metal CDs were stashed. Bilvy waved at him from behind the counter and he waved back before he found the place he wanted and began sifting through the racks of CDs. 

Thirty minutes later, Patrick appeared at his side. The makeup was gone, probably angrily rubbed off with water in the bathroom, and the harsh bruise that replaced it was difficult to miss. He smiled at Joe and began looking through the rock albums a couple of racks over, the two friends standing in companionable silence. This happened sometimes, they’d fight and one or both of them would storm off, and then later they’d act like nothing happened. It was ridiculous, but considering that neither boy had  _ that  _ many friends, it did a lot to keep their anger in check. 

After a few minutes, Patrick smiled over at Joe and he smiled back. “Wanna come to the bonfire tonight?” Joe asked, holding his breath. The smaller boy had never once accepted one off his invitations to hang out at the bonfire, pointing out that there were far too many people he didn’t know and they were often held on school nights, but maybe he would be willing this once. Patrick frowned thoughtfully, and Joe figured the answer would be a no, just like every other time. Which would be okay, but it would kind of suck a lot, seeing as Patrick was one of his best friends, but-

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick said softly, and Joe blinked in surprise. Patrick felt a knot of anxiety form in his stomach, small but still noticeable. “Just… Stick by me, if that’s cool.”

“Yeah, of course, man!” Joe nodded quickly, mass of curly hair shaking wildly with the movement. “You think I’d leave you alone at your first bonfire with those crazy people? As if! I mean, you’ll know some people, ‘cause Gerard and Frank will probably be there, and their ‘fro friend, um, Toro? And Gabe and Bilvy, too. We’ll look out for you, promise.”

Patrick nodded again, smiling as Joe rambled on about the people and the beer and whatever else. He wasn’t really listening, too busy trying to remind himself that things would be fine, regardless of the amount of people. Patrick didn’t really  _ do  _ people. Sure, he could handle a group of nine screaming five-year-olds (long story) with just a glare and a tray of cheeseburgers, but kids his age or older? Forget it.

_ “It’ll be fine,”  _ he assured himself as they finally left the mall, heading for the car with nothing but a pair of purple and white Claire’s bags in their hands. (They had both decided to go back and get something for Joe’s sister.)  _ “Joe will be there, and it will be fine.”  _

At least, he hoped so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think this chapter is longer than any of the previous ones? Also, this bonfire is based on the ones my brothers/I went to a lot when I was younger except cooler because those were with a bunch of white conservative redneck teenagers ugh. (I hate North Florida so much its so,,,southern). 
> 
> Also if anyone guesses who the band that's playing is, you win... absolutely nothing tbh.
> 
> Warnings for underage drinking (which btw I Do Not Condone cause breaking the law is dumb do not do it), brief mentions of underage drug use, and Pete being a bit of an asshole.

**_PETE_ **

Pete shifted in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, looking around at the teenagers gathered in the large clearing. He wasn’t quite sure why he was there, but he knew that it was too late now to say he wanted to go home. 

He pressed his palms into his eyes and let out a small groan that had Andy chuckling a little and patting him on the shoulder. “Why do I let myself be talked into these kinds of things?” he asked Andy, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a fucking Monday, we have school in the morning.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “That hasn’t bothered you at all in the past twelve years,” he said with the look of someone who was long-suffering and had learned to accept their fate. It was a look he often had around Pete and Joe. “I would know, I’ve been there for all of your stupid schemes.”

“Hey, rocket boots were totally a plausible thing,” Pete protested, leaning forward to grab at the door’s handle. “Let’s go do this shit, huh?”

Andy stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You good?” he asked, eyes giving away his concern. Pete smiled and nodded, then used his shoulder to push the door of the car open when it stuck. He was here now - he was going to have a good fucking time, like it or not.

He stuck close to Andy’s side as they wandered through lineup of cars and trucks in one corner of the clearing. There were plenty of others milling about, most of whom were carrying bottles or cans in their hands and laughing a little too loudly, especially since things hadn’t really started yet. Not far from the Designated Parking Area, someone had set up their makeshift stage, complete with a truck’s open tailgate and a drumset balanced precariously in the corner of the set-up. Some band he didn’t recognize was practicing haphazardly, none of them really paying attention to the task at hand, which made Pete think that they would probably suck.

Oh well, any music was better than nothing.

Andy was called away by someone, so he handed their contribution to the bonfire over to Pete - a log that the other boy didn’t even notice he’d been carrying. Pete took it upon himself to head for the center of the clearing and hand it over to the group of older guys around the pit, who were setting up for the flames that would be the center of everything in just a couple of hours. 

He handed the log to one of the guys, who he thought might be named Billie Joe. “None of you are drinking, right?” Pete asked a little nervously, remembering three fires ago, when the kids in charge had gotten drunk and nearly burned everything down. Mark, the guy who owned the land they were on and had started the bonfire tradition years ago, had not been pleased.

“We aren’t stupid, kid,” the guy smirked, running a hand through his already messy black hair. “Plus, Mark’d have my hide if we were anything less than completely sober. You ever seen Mark Hoppus mad?”

Pete shook his head, eyes wide. “Good, you never want to,” Billie Joe informed him, tossing the log in the growing stack of donated wood. “Drinks are over there, by the way. Don’t tell Mark I told you, though. He’d kill me if he knew I was telling kids where to get booze.”

“Sweet, thanks, man,” Pete smiled, turning to head the way Billie Joe had pointed. He didn’t know the guy, really, though he’d seen him around a few times. All he knew was that he was some college kid who hung out with Mark a lot, and that the two had a couple music classes together, but that was enough for him. Any friend of Mark had to  _ sort of  _ be good people, at least.

It didn’t take long to find the booze, because there were more people gathered around the coolers than anywhere else. Someone had organized everyone into a line, and another group of college kids were handling the beer and marking hands, all of them looking bored and a little pissed.

While he waited, Pete searched silently for Andy who seemed to have disappeared. He spotted Gabe and Bilvy with a group of their friends, and Frank Iero was talking to his one tall friend with the afro, and he  _ thought  _ he saw Joe with some other short kid, but there was no sign of the tattooed drummer. Pushing himself onto his toes to look only got him a derisive snort from someone behind him in line - which wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t  _ Pete’s  _ fault he was too fucking short - so he dropped his heels and decided to wait until he had a can of really bad beer in his hand before continuing his search.

Almost the moment he turned away from the line, Andy was in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at the can and the single Sharpie mark across the back of his hand. 

“What?” Pete asked, maybe a little too defensively for this being his first drink.

“You aren’t using me to get extra booze,” Andy informed him, then nodded towards the stage. “Band’s about to start playing, wanna go see?” 

Pete wanted to say no, because the band had every sign of being really shitty, but he knew that Andy wouldn’t take the answer, so he let himself be dragged to the stage. The guy on piano was shifting uncomfortably, wiping his sweaty hands on his black jeans. “Who are these kids?” Pete asked, leaning over to say it into Andy’s ear.

His friend swatted him away with a look that pretty clearly said,  _ ‘be nice.’ _ He shrugged. “They’re from Florida, I think, or some of them are at least. Someone said they’re pretty good, just… new, is all.” 

“No one ever books new bands,” Pete muttered, taking a swig of his beer. “Let’s hope they’re good.”

“They’re kids, Pete,” Andy reminded him, lifting his hand and waving to someone that Pete couldn’t see. 

“So are we,” Pete reminded. The kid on the piano shifted for a moment, then leaned towards the microphone. His voice cracked as he introduced the band, and Pete winced. He decided to hold off on all judgement for a while - they were obviously nervous as hell.

Someone swung an arm around Pete’s shoulder and stole his beer from his hand to take a sip. He whipped around to glare at the perpetrator, but he grinned when he realized it was just Joe. He took the can back and rolled his eyes. 

“Get your own, asshole,” he laughed, bumping fists with his friend.

“I’m not getting drunk tonight,” Joe shrugged, glancing behind him. “It’s my friend’s first time here, didn’t wanna completely scare him away, you know?”

Andy, Pete, and Joe made idle conversation for a few minutes before Joe disappeared to find his friend again and the other two turned back to actually pay attention to the band. Pete had to admit that they weren’t half-bad. They’d probably be better if they were less nervous, as he could see the way bass player’s hands shook a little as he played and the singer’s voice broke a couple of awkward times. He was willing to bet they would be back in a couple of bonfires’ time, probably sounding a whole lot better if the way people kept cheering boosted their confidence any.

Speaking of bonfires, there was a loud cheer from the fire pit, which meant that Billie Joe and his group had gotten flames going. Pete tapped Andy’s shoulder and nodded towards it, indicating that he would be there. His friend nodded, and told him to make good choices before turning his attention back to the band.

The fire was already fairly large and surrounded by teenagers when Pete reached it. Someone had pulled out a guitar and was trying to get everyone else to sing the Campfire Song Song from Spongebob, but they were greeted with groans and rolled eyes. Gabe looked up from where he was plopped on the grass near Pete and yelled over that “no one was drunk enough for that shit.”

“Speak for yourself, Saporta,” someone laughed. Pete turned, recognizing Frank Iero’s voice. “ _ Some  _ of us are definitely drunk enough to sing the  _ C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E SONG! _ ” The short boy half-shouted, half sang the last words, approaching them with a friend trailing behind him. His dark hair fell into his eyes in a way that was probably annoying as hell, but he didn’t seem to care. When he reached Pete’s side, two Sharpie marks on his left hand were proof that he had already had at least two beers. 

Frank’s short companion was harder to make out in the fading light, especially as he was backlit by the fire, but something about the reddish tint to his hair and the round face was familiar to Pete. It made more sense when Frank introduced him, grinning just a little too widely as he stepped aside to make the introduction.  “Wentz, this is my friend Patrick Stump - he’s the one who helped get Mikey outta a tree a couple days ago. Patrick, this is Pete Wentz, the idiot who walks my precious Sweet Pea when I’m at band shit.”

“We’ve met,” Patrick said quietly, tugging his hat over his eyes. “I babysat for the Wentzes on Saturday.”

“Oh, so that’s why you weren’t at my gig!” Gabe cut in, eyes blown wide. The way he was grinning, it was pretty obvious he was at least a little high. “Makes sense now. I was  _ confused _ .” 

“You’re always confused, Saporta,” Frank laughed, throwing himself next to the tall boy. “You’ve got the good shit, huh? Wanna share?” Pete was unsurprised when he pulled a new joint from his pocket and handed it over, and Frank pulled out a lighter.

He turned to Patrick, who looked even more awkward without Frank to hide behind. “How come I’ve never seen you at a bonfire before?” he asked. It was strange, especially since he apparently hung around with Frank and the Ways, who were often here. It was like those three and that afro dude were a weird, awkward as shit family, and they hardly ever had any close friends outside of the group.

Patrick shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his ratty blue jeans. “Never been to one. My best friend’s been inviting me forever but…” He seemed to be searching for the right words, biting his lip and blushing as he stared at the ground. “I don’t like people very much,” he said finally, shrugging and glancing up at Pete.

“I get it,” Pete said, because he really did. “I get along better with dogs, most of the time. Even that rat of Frank’s.”

“Sweet Pea’s a fucking queen, Wentz, and don’t you forget it,” Frank shouted, dissolving into giggles at the end of his sentence. Pete made a mental note to search out Afro Dude - Randy? Rayland? He couldn’t quite remember the guy’s name - and make sure that Frank had someone looking out for him who wasn’t already looking out for a twelve-year-old. After all, if Frank and Ray (yes, that was it) were here, Gerard and, thus, Mikey had to be somewhere. Probably enjoying the festivities from the safety of Ray’s truck bed or something.

Patrick nodded in understanding, shifting his weight between his feet and sucking a breath. He turned his head to glance at the stage, and the light from the fire fell across his face, illuminating a dark bruise that had blossomed across his pale skin. 

Pete frowned, resisting the urge to pull Patrick over and get a closer look. “What happened to your face, man?” he asked, wincing at the way it sounded and taking a swig of his beer to hide it.

The younger boy bit his lip, looking away quickly. “It’s nothing,” he assured him, rocking up onto the balls of his feet before dropping back down harshly. “I just, don’t always get along with doors, is all.”

Something about the way he said it made Pete think he was lying, but he forced himself not to care. This was only, like, his second time meeting the kid. He didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about anyone but Andy and Joe and his brothers, and maybe a handful of other people he’d known for forever. 

“I get ya,” he said with a shrug, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. For some reason, Pete couldn’t stop thinking about the first time he’d met Patrick, when he was wearing a shirt encrusted with dried egg and had been kind enough to take care of Pete when he was hungover. 

_ ‘He babysat you,’  _ a voice in his head laughed, and Pete’s grip tightened on the can of beer in his hand.  _ ‘Because you’re a kid who needs someone to take care of you.’ _

“Um, Pete? Are you… are you okay?” Patrick asked quietly, eyes wide at the way that Pete was practically crushing the still partially full can. “Do you need to, uh, to sit down or something?” 

Pete was in awe of how awkward the smaller boy was. He hated that it was kind of adorable. “I’m fine,” he assured him, loosening his grip and taking a quick swig of the drink instead. “Just lost focus for a minute there, is all.”

Patrick nodded. He looked over Pete’s shoulder, frowning at the darkness that now fully surrounded them, aside from the lights from a few parked cars across the clearing, the fire nearby, and the stage which wasn’t too far away. He seemed to be searching for something or someone, and let out a frustrated huff only a few seconds later.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked before he could stop himself. 

Patrick worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, still searching the darkness, before he answered. “My friend said he’d stick by me, but he ditched me when I started talking to Frank,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering at an unexpected breeze. 

Pete frowned, and decided to ignore his better judgement for a minute. He threw an arm over the short boy’s shoulder and grinned, turning them towards the fire. “Well, then I guess you’re stuck with me for a while,” he laughed, surveying the circle around the fire for a free spot that the two of them could muscle their way into. “You’re in luck tonight, Billie Joe’s group is in charge of the fire.”

“Why’s that lucky?” Patrick asked, voice a little small. If Pete had looked at him right then, he would have seen the way his blush spread over his cheeks at their close proximity. 

“Because he’s a good guy, neither of us are drunk-” he frowned at the can of beer and steered them towards a nearby trashcan before heading back towards the fire pit, “much. And Mike likes to give not-super-drunk people s’more supplies.” His grin was wide as they approached Billie Joe and Mike who were carefully supervising both the fire and the teenagers surrounding it. “Stick with me, ‘Tricky, and you’ll get to see the best that bonfire nights have to offer.”

Pete didn’t really expect a response, but his smile grew as Patrick offered him a small, “okay” that he didn’t know if he was even supposed to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have children and possibly dogs in it. Maybe not dogs. We will see how it goes. But definitely kid!Mikey Way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be out on Monday, but after the events in Orlando, I was too shaken up to write. I apologize for the delay, they just hit a little close to home, as I'm a member of the LGBT+ community and live in Florida. But I'm fine now and look! Hints of Peterick! And Kid!Mikey Way! YAY
> 
> Also this is super not-edited.  
> Warnings: Underage drinking and underage recreational drug use. Not too bad though lol

**_PATRICK_ **

Patrick was already regretting his decision, and he hadn’t even gotten into Joe’s car yet. 

Granted, that was only because Joe was moving what seemed like fifty logs (it was only three) into the backseat so that Patrick could sit in the front, and that required a lot of rearranging and shoving things around. But still, Patrick was still standing in his front yard, arms crossed over his especially ill-fitting hoodie.

When Joe finally got things arranged correctly, he stood aside, waving at the open door with an extravagant flourish. Patrick rolled his eyes and climbed in, closing the door and waiting impatiently for the other boy to climb into the driver’s seat. “Was that the reason you left me for like, thirty minutes?” he asked once Joe was in the car and had started off down the road, heading for the exit to their neighborhood.

“Maybe,” Joe shrugged, looking apologetic but also amused. “It’s tradition - everyone brings a log. I told Hurley I’d bring one for him, and I only had two so I had to go pick up another.”

“You couldn’t have done that with me in the car?” Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward to beat on the dashboard above one of the air vents, trying to make the heat start coming out of it properly. When he glanced back over at his friend, he looked a little guilty.

“Though you might wanna change or something, I don’t know,” Joe said with a frown. “I’ll know better next time.” 

_ Next time, _ as if it were a guarantee that Patrick would enjoy his first bonfire enough that he’d want to go again. He thought it seemed highly unlikely, but Joe seemed so hopeful that he couldn’t shoot him down. His best friend did so much for him, it was only fair to pay him back at least a little bit.

Getting to the clearing was interesting, because Patrick wasn’t even aware that there was a  _ road  _ in these woods, the ones surrounding the big house that had belonged to the Hoppus family for generations. The road was dirt and narrow, tucked into the trees, and it was really long. When they finally reached the clearing, Patrick was surprised to see how many cars were parked on one side of the large field.

Joe parked his car with the others and pulled himself out, kicking soda cans back into the car when they tumbled into the beaten down grass. Patrick followed his lead, opening the back door so they could get out the logs. A breeze blew through the parking area, but it was gentle because of the shelter from the trees. 

“Okay,” Joe started, pushing a log into Patrick’s arms and hugging the other two close to his chest. “So, the bonfire will start up when it gets dark. There’s the stage over there,” he pointed over at a platform with instruments and a truck backed up behind it, “but I don’t know who’s playing tonight. Beer is back where the line is forming, but we don’t have to drink tonight if you don’t want to.”

“Not tonight,” Patrick agreed, “I want to actually remember what happens, and get home safe, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t say what he was thinking - he wanted to be able to decide whether or not to ever come to a bonfire again, and he couldn’t do that if he was drunk. 

Joe shrugged and nodded, then dragged him over to the bonfire to drop off their logs. He disappeared for a few minutes to find out who was playing, leaving Patrick in the capable hands of Mark Hoppus, who was happy to look out for a “newbie” for a few moments. From the older boy’s side, Patrick spotted a good number of familiar faces, waving awkwardly at them and getting a few waves back. Mark was nice, if a little frantic, explaining that he was mostly making sure no one did something completely stupid and got hurt. 

When Joe came back they wandered around a little, stopping to chat with a few people that Patrick didn’t know well. The entire atmosphere was very comfortable and easy going, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d been missing out for the past couple of years.

When they found Frank is when things got weird. Joe disappeared again, leaving Patrick alone with a just slightly drunk Frank Iero and a freshly lit bonfire as the only things he recognized, though the boy that seemed to be in charge of the fire was also fairly familiar. 

“Where’s Ray and the Ways?” Patrick asked him, scanning the rapidly darkening clearing for the trio that were some of Frank’s most constant companions. Frank shrugged, knocking back what remained of his second beer.

“Ray’s truck? I think. I’m not sure. I lost them,” he admitted, blinking blearily and flicking his hair out of his face. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You’re forgetful when you’re drunk,” he informed the short boy, raising his eyebrows.

“I resent that,” Frank pouted. “Two reasons: I’m not drunk, an’ I’m always forgetful.”

Patrick snorted. “You’re a little drunk.”

Frank looked thoughtful for a moment, but he finally shrugged and pushed Patrick a little away from the people gathered around the fire. Someone near their feet - the light was too dim to see who, exactly, was settled on the floor and talking quietly to themselves - grumbled that no one was drunk enough to sing the Campfire Song Song. Frank raised his eyebrows and stepped closer, smirking over his shoulder at Patrick.

“Speak for yourself, Saporta,” he announced. “ _ Some  _ of us are drunk enough for the C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E song!” Patrick snickered at Frank’s antics, covering his mouth with one hoodie-covered hand to muffle the sound. He approached from behind Frank and stood back a little, eyeing Gabe on the ground and his friend - was that Pete Wentz? - standing beside him and rolling his eyes.

Frank tried to introduce them, apparently to Pete’s amusement, before he flopped down beside Gabe and asked him to share his weed. Patrick made a mental note to tell Ray to look out for him later, if he could find him.

When Pete dragged him over to get s’mores from Mike Dirnt, he couldn’t help but smile. The excited look in his eyes was adorable, and Patrick felt oddly comfortable around him, almost as comfortable as he felt around Joe, or Mikey Way. It was weird. 

“Mike,” Pete called, waving at one of the college kids keeping watch over the fire with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Patrick’s wrist. “Mike, you got the s’mores stuff?” 

Mike looked up narrowing his eyes at Pete for a moment and motioning for him to get closer. “How much’ve you had to drink, Wentz?” he asked suspiciously, not even looking at Patrick for the moment.

Pete looked only slightly offended, dropping Patrick’s wrist to hold up his hand and show off the single black slash mark across the back. “Only one,” he promised, “pinky promise. Rode with Andy so I didn’t even pre-game.”

“And your friend?” Mike’s scrutinizing gaze turned to Patrick now, making him squirm in place. He resisted the urge to hide behind Pete, knowing it would make him look stupid and guilty, and that would be ridiculous. Pete reached out and grabbed both of Patrick’s hands, holding them up to Mike with a wide grin.

“Not even one,” he announced. “Oh, this is Patrick Stump. He’s sixteen, and the best babysitter you’ll ever meet.”

_ He’s holding my hands _ , Patrick’s mind was screaming. He told himself to shut up and stop being ridiculous.

Mike grinned widely and gestured for them to follow him to the chairs that the kids watching the fire had set up on one side of the pit. He led them to a chair with a large backpack sitting on it and a pile of unwrapped wire coat-hangers sitting on the ground under it. An opened bag of marshmallows and a box of graham crackers poked out of the bag, and a tray of unwrapped Hershey’s chocolate bars lay on a chair beside that one. The older boy handed them each a marshmallow and a metal stick and motioned towards the fire.

“Feel free to help yourself, but be careful,” he cautioned them. “Stay on this side of the fire, with the older guys. I’ll let them know that you’re my friends so they don’t try to run you off.” With that, Mike headed for a few of the other guys gathered by a cooler and spoke to them, gesturing towards Pete and Patrick, and then heading back over to his place on the other side of the fire.

Patrick carefully speared his marshmallow and headed for the fire, maneuvering his stick to a spot where it would hopefully not catch on fire. In contrast, Pete carelessly stuck his own marshmallow into the flames. His child-like grin made Patrick blush a little, something he prayed wasn’t noticeable in the light the fire was casting. “I like ‘em crunchy,” Pete smirked over at him, grin getting broader as the marshmallow caught on fire and he had to pull it towards him to blow it out. 

They sat quietly, occasionally getting up to get new s’mores supplies from Mike’s bag. Pete kept making jokes every few minutes to keep some semblance of a conversation going, but somehow it never got awkward. Patrick felt comfortable and happy, even as his fingers were sticky with sugar and chocolate and the heat the fire gave off was almost suffocating.

Eventually, Pete climbed to his feet and held out the hand that wasn’t holding together a s’more to help Patrick up. “Okay, I’ve had enough - you good, Trick?”

Patrick’s face heated up at the nickname, and he nodded his head quickly, taking Pete’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. “I’m good,” he agreed, brushing grass off of the seat of his pants. “Now what?” 

“You still wanna hang out with me?” Pete asked, looking surprised. A flash of something crossed his face - almost annoyance, but something softer too, shocked and maybe even happy - but it was gone before Patrick could question it.

Patrick shrugged, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and looking down. “You did promise me the ‘best that bonfire night has to offer,’” he reminded the older boy. Still, he worried his lower lip between his teeth and turned away to search in the darkness for a glimpse of Joe’s impressively sized ‘fro. “If you want me to leave, I can find my friend. Don’t worry about it.”

He started to make his way towards the cars - he would find Joe’s and wait there until the other boy was ready to go home - but Pete grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards him. “No! No, we should go listen to the band. They’re new, but they aren’t bad,” he said firmly, already dragging the shorter boy towards the stage. They passed Brendon, who stared at Patrick with wide eyes and a small smirk. Patrick’s hand felt clammy wrapped in Pete’s own, and he hoped the other boy didn’t notice.

They came up to the stage, where the boy who was apparently the lead singer was smiling awkwardly and introducing the next song. The band was good, Patrick decided as they listened to a few of their songs. The singer was nervous, but Pete had said they were new, so Patrick wasn’t surprised. He was, however, a little surprised by how much he liked the song - was it called Girls? He thought it was.

“Who are these guys?” he asked as their set ended and the band was packing up, leaning up to say it into Pete’s ear. As he turned his head towards Patrick, the shorter boy was suddenly aware of how close they were to each other, and the fact that he was still holding his hand. However, he made no effort to move away. It wasn’t bothering Pete, so what could it hurt?

“I dunno,” Pete shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “They introduced themselves at the beginning of their set, but I can’t remember it.” 

Patrick rolled his eyes and nudged him in the ribs playfully. “You should pay attention next time,” he teased, surprised at the easy way the words slid from his lips. Things usually never came easy to Patrick, not with people like Pete. 

_ Not with people you have a crush on, _ he thought, but he pushed it away. He couldn’t have a crush on Pete. Pete was probably straight, and he was funny and nice, and definitely wouldn’t like someone as awkward and shy as Patrick, who admitted he only got along with little kids. He barely even knew him!

“I will,” Pete nodded, eyes serious but smirking a little in amusement. “I promise.”

They both turned back towards the stage, where Mark Hoppus’ band was setting up - a rarity nowadays, if Patrick remembered correctly - but before they began playing, a small body shrouded in black practically barreled into Patrick’s side. He peered through the darkness and recognized the way the little light there was reflected off of the person’s glasses and the beanie that was pulled low over his ears.

“Mikey?” he asked, peering down at the kid in concern. He heard Pete swear under his breath and begin scanning the crowd for the boy’s older brother, who was nowhere to be seen. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Patrick!” he yelled, wrapping almost too skinny arms around Patrick’s waist. 

Patrick hugged him back, raising his eyebrows at Pete in confusion and concern. “Mikey seriously, is something wrong?” he asked again, pulling back and bending down to be a little closer to the boy’s height.

Mikey shrugged, a movement that was hardly perceptible in the dark. “I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was shakier than normal. “It’s just… it’s dark, and I can’t find Gee, and Ray’s with Frank, who’s high and drunk and tried to flirt with Jamia in front of her girlfriend, and… and I don’t know, I’m being dumb.” 

Patrick realized that Mikey was crying, but trying not to show it, using the cover of darkness to seem like his usual slightly-stoic self. “Mikes, where was the last place you saw your brother?” he asked, trying not to sound worried. Of all the kids he had watched since he was basically forced into babysitting at twelve, Mikey was one of his favorites, being one of the first regular clients he’d ever gotten. He hated seeing the boy upset.

“I don’t know,” he whimpered, sniffling a little. “I can’t see anything - it’s too dark. Last time I saw him, he was gonna get another drink and then he stopped to talk to Bert and I haven’t seen ‘im since.” Pete groaned a little at the revelation, though Patrick didn’t know why. The boy continued in a softer voice, almost like he didn’t want to be heard. “Patrick? I’m scared.” 

Pete put a gentle hand on each of their backs, pushing them out of the crowd waiting at the stage and towards the edge of the clearing. When they stopped, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning on the flashlight mode so they could see. Mikey squeaked a little, ducking his head and wiping hurriedly at his eyes with the sleeves of his too-large black hoodie. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay to cry,” Patrick said hurriedly, catching sight of Pete’s clenched jaw and eyes blazing with anger. “Pete’s gonna go find your brother, okay?” he continued, sending said boy a warning look. He took his phone, which was already unlocked, and quickly added himself as a new contact. “He can text me when he finds him. We’re gonna find Ray and let him know that I’m going to take you home. Okay?”

Mikey nodded slowly, biting hard on his lip. Pete smiled at him. “I’m gonna go,” he warned, his voice tight with anger, but still as gentle as he could make it be. “Patrick’s going to turn on his flashlight as I’m walking away. I’ll see you soon, Mikeyway. It’ll be okay.”

He patted the boy on the shoulder and smiled tightly at Patrick before turning away. Patrick pulled out his own phone so he could turn on another light and placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “We’ve gotta find Joe first,” he said, trying to make his voice sound soothing. He was worried because Pete seemed pissed off, but there was nothing he could do about it. “I rode here with him, so I have to at least let him know we’re leaving, if I don’t get a ride from him. Why were you headed for the stage?”

Mikey shrugged, ducking his head for a minute. “Last time something like this happened, I ended up falling asleep by the fire,” he said. Patrick’s stomach clenched at the thought of the boy getting lost before, but he brushed it aside for now. “I woke up in Mark’s house, and he told me that if something like that ever happened again, I was supposed to find him or Billie Joe, and they’d make sure I was okay.”

“That’s good,” Patrick said, heading for a table filled with food and coolers. “You gonna be fine coming home with me, then?” 

“I know you better,” he shrugged. He waved at a kid who couldn’t have been much older than fourteen and had a streak of red through his dark hair. “I don’t think you’re planning on killin’ me in my sleep. You’d’ve done it by now.”

Patrick laughed and scanned the people by the tables, smiling in relief when he spotted Joe talking to Dallon Weekes and looking a little alarmed. “Joe!” he called, removing his hand from Mikey’s shoulder and waving at him when he looked around in confusion. The pair speed-walked over to Joe, who looked relieved.

“Patrick! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I went back to Frank but he was high as hell and had no clue where you were. Hey, little Way, somethin’ wrong?”

“He can’t find his brother and Ray’s taking care of Frank,” Patrick explained. “I need to take him home.” 

Joe nodded, turning to Dallon. “I’ll catch you later, man,” he said. Dallon waved and turned back to the food. Joe grinned at Patrick and Mikey, ruffling the top of Mikey’s beanie and making the boy wrinkle his nose and duck away. 

“Where do you think Ray would be?” Patrick asked once they started walking. Mikey shrugged, looking thoughtful.

“Maybe his truck? I dunno where it’s parked though,” he replied, sounding apologetic. Joe grinned at him, leading the way to the parking area.

“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” he assured the boy. He led them between the cars as Patrick made conversation with Mikey, until catching sight of a familiar head of curls and a mohawk sitting on the tailgate of one of the trucks. “Hey, Toro, Iero, over here!” he yelled, running up to them.

Patrick and Mikey explained what was going on quickly. Ray frowned when he heard that Gerard had disappeared after talking to Bert, looking a little worried. “I’ll let you know if we see them,” he promised. “I’ve gotta take care of Frank, but I know Mikes’ll be in good hands. Won’t you, kiddo?” The last sentence was directed at Mikey, who nodded quickly and smiled at Ray.

The trio started towards Joe’s car when he froze and grabbed Patrick’s arm. “I can’t drive Mikey home,” he muttered. “Backseat’s a mess. I wouldn’t let you or a kid ride back there.” 

Patrick frowned. “Then how are we gonna leave?” he asked, crossing his arms. “We can’t just stand around all night until you clean it out or some shit!” 

Joe looked thoughtful, then he grinned. “Stay right here,” he announced, taking careful note of the cars they were standing by. “I’ll go get someone who can help.” He disappeared into the dark, leaving Patrick to occupy Mikey and make sure he didn’t ask any questions before he got back. When he reappeared, a somewhat familiar tattooed guy was trailing behind him, looking unamused.

“Hurley can give you a ride,” Joe announced, grinning at his friend. 

Said boy nodded in confirmation, rolling his eyes at Joe. “Yeah, of course I can,” he said, smiling at Mikey. “Hi Patrick.”

“Hi Andy,” Patrick said, raising his eyebrows. So  _ this  _ was the Hurley that Joe was always talking about? It made sense, but Patrick couldn’t quite believe it.

“Wait, you’ve met?” Joe looked incredulous, and Patrick and Mikey both stifled laughs behind their hands. “And how come  _ he  _ gets to call you by your first name.”

Andy smiled, rolling his eyes. “Patrick hasn’t called me to pick him up from the bar more times than anyone else in my contacts,” he said patiently, as if this was something he’d explained several times. He turned back to Patrick, tilting his head to the left. “Come on, Joe’ll take Pete and Gerard home later. I should get home soon, anyway. Got a test in first period.”

Patrick and Mikey waved goodbye to Joe and followed Andy to his car. The kid stuck to Patrick’s side, but he fell asleep before they ever reached his house.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how late this is, other than the fact that my sister does not seem to understand that my life does not revolve around playing dolls and "Frozen sisters" with her. This is way too short. I'm so sorry.

Pete wanted to strangle Gerard Way. 

He’d found the older boy, alright, covered in beer and smelling so strongly of weed, Pete was pretty sure his clothes would smell that way permanently. Gerard’s hair was flopping into his eyes, and he was beyond the point of being able to really walk or do anything besides laugh his head off and mumble about finding Mikey and Frank. 

“Petey, Petey, listen,” he said, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t slung around Pete’s shoulder to pat at his face. “Petey, gotta fin’ Mikey, gotta take ‘im home. Told ‘im I’d be b’ck, where izee?”

Pete groaned as he got a facefull of Gerard’s beer breath. “He’s with Patrick Stump,” he replied, tugging him over towards Joe and making a face. “God damn, he’s gonna be so mad, hope you know that, Way.”

“Don’ tell Ray or Linz,” he begged, nearly tripping over his own feet as he peered up at Pete in the dark. “They’ll kill me, pleese don’ tell ‘em.” 

Joe caught sight of them, recognizing the way the dim light of Pete’s iPhone hit Gerard’s black hair, and hurried over, slinging the other arm over his shoulder and helping to half-drag him towards his car. “Told Ray we were taking him home,” he said over the boy’s head, pausing to press the button on his key fob to unlock the door. “This asshole gets the backseat.”

The two of them maneuvered Gerard into the back, cramming him in between the door and the unnecessary amount of stuff that was piled in the backseat. Joe slammed the door behind him, raising his eyebrows at Pete. “So he’s fucked up,” he said eloquently, nodding towards where Gerard had already fallen asleep with his face pressed up against the window. 

“McCracken’s fault, like always. Someday this is gonna end badly,” Pete replied, curling his hands into fists. He sighed and moved forward, yanking front passenger seat and sliding in. As Joe drove, he felt his eyes sliding closed, and took the opportunity to catch a few moments of sleep before he had to take care of Gerard. 

 

He was at his family’s lake house, sitting on the end of the dock and watching the sunset. In his left hand, he held a popsicle, which was dripping down his hand and arm and landing on his thigh. 

He turned to the right, and smiled at the way the soft light hit Patrick’s face, highlighting the light freckles on his cheeks and making his hair glow. The younger boy noticed him looking and blushed, turning to face him with pink cheeks and lowered eyes, biting softly on his lower lip.

Pete reached out with his right hand, wrapping it around Patrick’s smaller one and pulling him closer. He leaned forward, and their lips almost touched when-

 

He was awakened by a loud thump. Pete shot upright, searching the dimly lit bedroom for the source of the sound, when he spotted Gerard curled up in a tight ball next to the bed. The older boy was clutching his head, groaning softly at the pain that was no doubt shooting through it. 

“Fuck, what happened?” Gerard managed, eyes screwed tightly shut against the light that was coming from the bedside lamp. Pete untangled himself from the pile of blankets he was sleeping in, kicking them away as he got up.

“You ran into Bert McCracken,” he explained shortly, barely disguising the annoyance in his voice. “How’d you end up on the floor?” 

Gerard shrugged awkwardly, unfurling himself and looking up at Pete through bloodshot eyes. “Fell, I guess,” he said. He glanced around, sitting all the way up quickly and scanning the room with only a small wince. “Where’s Mikey? Why are we in Mikey’s room?” 

Pete held up a finger, snagging a glass from the bedside table and leaving the room. He walked the few steps down the hall into the bathroom to fill the glass with water and find painkillers. It wasn’t until he had the cup completely filled, that he fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It was, miraculously, only six forty-five, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. School didn’t start for another forty-five minutes. A text from Ray informed him that he’d pick the up at seven fifteen.

When Pete returned to the bedroom, Gerard was slowly making Mikey’s bed with one hand, the other still pressed to his forehead. “Mikey’s at Patrick’s house,” Pete said, making the older boy jump. “Take this. Ray’s gonna pick us up in like thirty minutes. You might wanna get dressed in something that doesn’t smell like weed.” 

As soon as he was satisfied that the painkillers were swallowed, Pete headed for the living room, where he flopped onto the couch and turned on the television. So he was wearing the same clothes for the second day in a row. He would live. 

Getting to school happened with little-to-no fanfare. Ray picked them up on time and chewed Gerard out the entire way to school. He was still yelling - which was causing Gerard to wince as it irritated his head - when they headed for the senior hallway, leaving Pete alone. That didn’t last long, though, because it seemed like only a second later, Joe was throwing an arm over his shoulders.

“Hey man, you sleep okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, how’d we end up in Mikey’s room?” 

Joe shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno man. It’s on the first floor, so it was easier to you guys there than to Gerard’s basement. I just kinda… dropped you.” 

Pete rolled his shoulder, which was a little stiff, and slipped away from Joe’s arm. He shifted his backpack so it rested more comfortably. “That explains a lot,” he joked, looking past Joe to where Andy was approaching with Patrick in tow. His eyes lit up at the sight of the younger boy, and he had to keep himself from bounding over for a hug.

Patrick, to his surprise, stopped just behind Joe, watching Pete shyly from over the boy’s shoulder. He stretched up onto his tiptoes to mutter something into his ear, which earned him a nod, and then turned and hurried away. Pete watched him go with a small frown, biting on the skin of his inner cheek to keep from saying anything.

“Sorry about him,” Joe was saying, eyes following the boy as he slipped in the school’s main doors. “He can be weirdly shy sometimes. Takes a while for him to get comfortable around anyone.”

“I know,” Pete said before he could think about it.

“You know?” Joe looked incredulous, confusion coloring his features. 

Pete shrugged, nodding towards the doors with his chin. “We’ve met a couple times. He was our babysitter Friday night, and we hung out at the bonfire.” 

A slow smile spread across Joe’s face as the warning bell alerted students to the five remaining minutes before class started. “You did?” he asked, waiting for Pete and Andy to nod in confirmation. “Perfect! I mean, that’s cool. I gotta get to class before Patrick gives my seat up, see ya!” With that, he turned and ran, ducking between the students and waving to Hayley Williams as he passed her. 

Pete stared after his friend, shaking his head and following Andy to their own first period. He had to get more normal friends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna let you read this. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> :)

**_PATRICK_ **

Hayley dropped her books on the desk next to Patrick’s. “So, Stump,” she said, plopping into the seat. “Who’s the guy?” 

Patrick’s head shot up in alarm. “Guy? What guy? There is no guy,” he said quickly, eyes not meeting hers. Sometimes he hated that the short girl tended to be very observant. 

She inspected him with narrowed eyes, a small smile on her face. “You’re fidgeting and you can’t look at me,” she said coolly, turning away from him to pull out her pencil case. “There’s a guy.”

Joe snickered from the other side of Patrick, which he found extremely unhelpful. When Patrick shot him a glare, he ducked his head guiltily, but it was obvious he was trying to hide a smile beneath his curls. 

“There is no guy,” Patrick said firmly. He knew that the way he was denying this wasn’t helping, but honestly, he didn’t want Hayley getting involved in his love life again. The last time that happened, he’d ended up dating Elisa who, though being a perfectly nice girl that he was still friends with, he just wasn’t into. Most because she was a  _ girl. _

Hayley rolled her eyes, flicking her red hair over her shoulder and turning to face the front of the room as Mrs. Smith-Cox hurried through the door, looking harried. “That’s what they all say,” she said softly out of the corner of her mouth. With that, she began listening attentively as Mrs. Smith-Cox apologized for being late, informing them that her wife had woken up with the flu and she’d had to drive their daughter to school. Patrick could see Hayley eying him from the corner of her eye, and he didn’t appreciate it.

Soon, the class dissolved into pairs to continue work on the project they had been assigned the previous day. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief as Hayley moved across the room to work with Tayler, and turned to Joe, who was scooting his desk closer to him. Unfortunately, the relief was short lived, as Joe smiled at him from beneath his messy curls, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“So, how’s Pete?” he asked, completely disregarding the paper with the project guidelines that Patrick was trying to get him to look at. 

Patrick sighed. “How should I know?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Aren’t you the one who’s best friends with him or whatever?” He felt kind of bad about the hurt expression that flashed across Joe’s face, but he had to admit there was a small lump in his throat as he’d said it.

“Seriously, Stump?” Joe said, frowning hard. “You’re my best friend. Not, like, Wentz or whatever. Yeah, we’re close, but it’s been you and me since kindergarten. That shit is hard to forget. I was just teasing you. Sorry, man.” He picked up the paper that Patrick was still holding, plucking it pointedly from his hands. 

They soon fell into a mix of attempting to actually plan the project, cross-referencing Joe’s work schedule and Patrick’s baby-sitting jobs to find a time when they could get together outside of class, and cracking jokes that had them laughing until their sides hurt. All in all, it was a productive first period, except for the part where they didn’t actually get any work done at all. 

Still, Patrick was one of the first people out the door, and he could feel Hayley’s eyes on him as he half-ran down the hallway. 

Unfortunately, in his haste to get away from his suspicious friend, Patrick was very much not looking where he was going. So, of course, he ran right into Pete Wentz, dropping his binder and knocking his glasses askew in the process.

Both boys leaned down to try and grab the binder before it could get kicked down the hallway. “Hey, ‘Trick,” said Pete, a wide smile filling his face. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Patrick tried to force himself to quite blushing, taking the binder that Pete had gotten to first and fixing his glasses. “Hi, Pete,” he said quietly, already starting to walk again. He expected Pete to keep heading to his second period, which was clearly in the opposite direction, seeing as he’d just run into the older boy’s chest, but luck didn’t seem to be on his side.

Pete turned on his heel and walked beside him, squeezing past a couple that was, inexplicably, making out against the lockers. Patrick thought he recognized the girl from his fourth period Biology class. She didn’t seem to be enjoying it. 

“So, what are you doing after school?” Pete asked, startling Patrick out of his contemplation of the couple that they’ve long since passed. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs.

“Picking Mikey up and taking him home, yelling at Gerard, and then running like hell to get to the Yao’s house before Elisa’s mom leaves for work and she heads to… well, whatever she’s got going on tonight,” he said, all in a rush of breath that he didn’t know he had. Pete seems to deflate just a little bit before he’s smiling again, shrugging his shoulders and high-fiving Brendon as the sophomore bounced past, talking the ear off of Sarah Orzechowski. 

“That’s cool!” he said, running a hand through his short hair. “I’ve gotta walk some dogs tonight, and then I’ve got to do all my homework before we leave for some big, fancy party that my dad was invited to.” He shrugged, dropping his hand only briefly before wrapping it around the strap of his backpack.

Patrick nodded, stopping just outside of his second period. “This is me,” he says, gesturing to the card that reads  _ Mr. Watson - US History Honors  _ in bold letters next to the door. Pete waved him goodbye before turning to run towards where he had second period. Patrick rolled his eyes and yanked the door open, heading for his seat in the back of the classroom.

 

Yelling at Gerard is a lot more productive when the first thing out of his mouth is a plea for forgiveness. The entire ordeal had been through with relatively quickly, and Mikey had hugged Patrick tight around the middle before he hurried towards the Yao’s house. Not having to lecture Gerard, combined with the fact that he had the car that he shared with his brother tonight, meant that he had an extra half-hour, which in turn meant that he might be able to get to the house early and then Elisa and her mother could leave early. 

Elisa seemed surprised when she opened the door. Declan was hanging off her back, and her make-up was half-done, so Patrick assumed she was either going to a party or on a date. “Hi, Patrick,” she said, leaning over so Declan could swing himself off of her back and attach himself to the babysitter’s legs. “You’re here early.” 

Patrick shrugged. “I got done with what I needed to early, and headed over. Your mom home?” 

Elisa shook her head, turning to lead him into the house. “She took off right after bringing Declan home from preschool. He said she was kinda upset about something,” she explained. Patrick hated hearing the worry in her voice.

“Speak of, hey little man,” he said, leaning down to look at the three-year-old who was still attached to his legs. “How you doin’, bud?” 

Declan let go of him, grinning proudly. “I learned to spell my name at school!” he announced, already starting to tug Patrick towards his bedroom. “Wanna see, wanna see?” 

Patrick laughed and waved to Elisa as he was yanked through the door. He missed the small ‘thank you’ that she muttered before returning to her room to finish getting ready. Declan was bouncing on his toes as he searched the small table that was shoved in the corner for a sheet of paper. “Patrick, come look,” he said finally, holding up a sheet of red construction paper and waving it in the air. A black crayon was in his other hand, gripped tightly. 

The babysitter obeyed with a smile, sitting on the floor beside Declan’s chair and ruffling his hair. The boy carefully made each letter, announcing it as he did so. When he was done, he shoved the paper towards Patrick with a nervous smile, waiting to hear his opinion. Patrick inspected the messily written name as if he were an art critic. “Wow, this is really good,” he said finally, nodding. “Proud of you, squirt.” 

Declan’s face lit up and he hugged Patrick tightly. “See, Lis!” he yelled as his sister walked past the bedroom door, fluffing her hair with one hand and rummaging through her purse with the other. “Patrick thinks it’s cool.”

She rolled her eyes and stopped what she was doing, leaning against the doorframe. “Of course he does,” she smiled. “Patrick’s great like that. I thought it was pretty cool, too, remember Boo Baby?”

Declan nodded, biting on his small lower lip. “Yeah, but Momma didn’t,” he said a little sadly. Elisa sighed and walked into the room, leaning down to kiss her little brother on the head. 

“I know, baby,” she said sadly. “Well, I’m heading to work. I’ll see you in the morning, Dec, you be good for Patty, okay?” She waited until the little boy nodded before turning to her friend. “Bye, Patrick.” 

As she left and Declan dragged him through the house to find her keyboard for Patrick to play, he wondered where she was working. How long had Elisa had a job? She hadn’t told him about it. He hated that she had to work, wherever it was. A girl like Elisa deserved to be at home with her baby brother, studying for the test he knew she had in class tomorrow. 

He settled at her keyboard once they found it (on the stand in her room, where it always was) and sang for Declan, smiling when he started to sing along too.

Patrick had practically helped raise Declan when he was born, since that was right around the time he’d been dating Elisa. Ms. Yao worked a lot to keep food on the table, and she wasn’t really the greatest mom in the world when she was home, so a lot of the childcare was thrust onto her, even though Elisa had only been thirteen at the time. 

Elisa had confided in Patrick that her mother had her when she was sixteen, and raising her alone did not help her become more responsible. If anything, it made it worse, especially once she got a job that meant she could afford a babysitter. As a kid, Elisa barely saw her mother, and when she did, the woman was tired, or angry, or dragging some man back to her bedroom. When Declan was born, another accident, she decided that she was going to make sure his life was better than hers had ever been. Patrick was glad to be of assistance.

It was why he never let them pay him, even when Elisa tried to insist. 

“Patty, I’m hungry,” Declan whined after a while, having gotten tired of singing with Patrick. He clutched his stomach as it growled. “See?”

The kitchen turned up nothing good, at least, not for Declan. The best thing they found was a pack of chicken nuggets in the back of the freezer, but they were so freezer-burnt that Patrick didn’t think that even Joe would eat them. 

“What do you say we go to McDonald’s?” he asked, turning to the kid beside him, who had watched with sad, slightly ashamed eyes as Patrick did so. “My treat.”

“Can I have a happy meal?” Declan asked, eyes lighting up. Patrick grinned back and nodded, and it was all the convincing that he needed. 

Patrick was nothing, if not prepared, and it only took him a few minutes to put the spare booster seat from his trunk in properly with practiced ease. He helped Declan in and watched as he carefully buckled his own seat belt, tongue sticking out in concentration. The little boy cheered when it clicked, looking up at Patrick with pride on his face and giving him a high-five that left both of them with stinging hands.

The ride to McDonald’s was short, and Patrick was grateful for it. Declan was a great kid, but he got really cranky when he was hungry, and boy, was he hungry. Patrick tried not to wonder when the last time he ate was, knowing that Ms. Yao was too proud to let her children accept the free lunch program at the schools. 

“One cheeseburger meal, medium fries and a medium pop,” he recited, when they finally reached the register, looking down at Declan for his order. Declan shrugged up at him, tilting his head in confusion. “And a chicken nugget happy meal, with apples and fries, and a chocolate milk, please.”

“Boy toy?” the guy behind the counter, Bob, asked. 

“What’s the toys you have?” Declan said instead, standing on his toes to see over the counter. 

Bob raised his eyebrows. “Boys get nascar, girls get an emoji keychain,” he said boredly. Declan looked thoughtful for a moment before he decided. 

“I want the emoji one - Elisa can put it on her backpack, it’ll be super cute!” he said decisively. Bob shrugged and put the order in, and Patrick couldn’t help but be proud of Declan. (Then again, he was always proud of Declan.)

 

After eating, they decided to walk to the ancient DVD rental store across the street. It was the last one left in town, probably kept alive by the number of elderly people who refused to learn to use Netflix or RedBox, and the teenagers who needed a good place to find an outrageous amount of candy, popcorn, and cheap, greasy pizza. 

They never made it to the store. 

Declan dropped the keychain, which he was holding tightly in his small fist, halfway across the street. Instead of telling Patrick, he slipped his hand free from the older boy’s and dashed back into the road, not looking to see if any cars were coming. 

“Declan, no!” Patrick yelled, staring with wide eyes as a truck came barreling down the street. Terror filled his chest as he watched it heading straight for the three-year-old crouched in the road to pick up the toy. It wasn’t slowing down, it wasn’t stopping. The driver was up too high, and Declan was too small. It couldn’t see him.

Patrick didn’t think as he threw himself into the road, just barely feeling someone’s fingertips grasping for his wrist as he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh.  
> Sorry? 
> 
>  
> 
> Listen, I'm nothing if not the angst queen, okay?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise Joe chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING ANGST WTH I DID NOT INTEND THIS I SWEAR. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FLUFFY FIC. WHAT. I'M A MESS.
> 
> Also, y'all are lucky - there's a tropical storm headed my way, so they cancelled school for the next two days. (Fuck yeah, five day weekend. Bc, like, Labor Day.) Which means that I wrote this chapter AND chapter ten tonight, because I didn't have to do homework. Which means that you don't have to wait until Sunday like I originally planned. Ya'll should be thanking Tropical Storm Ian, you guys.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Ten will probs be up tomorrow lmao

**_JOE_ **

Joe couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, he’s hurt, where are you?” he said, already pulling on his shoes.

Andy sounded choked up from the other side of the phone, struggling to get his words out. “I’m in front of the movie rental place, he’s on the ground, an ambulance is coming but I’m scared, Joe,” he said, words coming more quickly and frantically than Joe had ever heard the boy speak.

“I live around the corner, you know that, I’ll be right there,” he said, heart pounding in his chest. He paused only briefly by the door to the garage before darting towards the front. There wasn’t time to wait pray for his car to start up, to wait until it decided to work with him. He needed to get to Patrick, now.

By the time he reached the movie store, there was a small crowd forming on the street. A large truck was pulled over nearby, candy apple red and doors wide open. The driver was shaking and looked like he was about to cry, and Joe figured right away that he was the man who had hit Patrick. 

He shoved through the crowd, hands shaking when he caught sight of Andy and Patrick and Declan Yao. The kid was crying, hands and knees scraped to hell and gravel stuck to them, snot running down his face, but he seemed otherwise okay. Andy wasn’t crying, but he looked close to it, lips pressed together in a tight line. 

When Joe got a good look at Patrick, his mind went blank. 

There was his best friend, just laying there, and somehow, he couldn’t connect the dots. Somehow his brain was seeing Patrick and so much blood and the way he was just barely breathing and the awkward angle of his arm and it wasn’t processing anything besides the fact that  _ he could die, his best friend could die right here and now, and Joe would be alone.  _ (Except that he wouldn’t, not really, because he had Andy and Pete and Gabe and Frank and so many others, so he wouldn’t be alone, but he’d be without Patrick, which would really be worse.)

“Fuck, Trick, fuck, no, no, no, no, Stump, we’re supposed to die together, you can’t die on me,” he mumbled, dropping to his knees. He thought he heard sirens in the distance, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than all the blood covering Patrick’s pale face and the sound of Declan crying and Andy faintly telling him to calm down.

He was pushed away by someone, as they lifted Declan and Patrick into an ambulance and Joe couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ He grabbed for Patrick, and begged and pleaded, and someone finally let him on the ambulance with them. The ride was mostly silent, save for the frantically working EMT, who was trying to keep Patrick alive. Declan was still sobbing, complaining that his ankle hurt. Joe found himself pulling the kid close, comforting him because there was nothing he could do about Patrick at the moment.

They made him stay in the waiting room at the hospital, made him sit in a chair and worry and cry and try to breathe. A nurse looked at him sympathetically and brought him a cup of water, but Joe couldn’t drink it. He didn’t want water - he wanted Patrick to be okay.

Andy came in a few minutes later, looking harried, and settled at Joe’s side. “I called Gerard, Brendon, and Patrick’s family, and the Yaos. They said they’d let everyone else know,” he said softly. Joe nodded, not really processing the words. He still couldn’t breathe or even think straight. Andy seemed to notice this, kneeling in front of Joe on the floor.

“He’s going to be okay, Joe,” he said firmly. “You have to believe he’s going to be okay.” 

“But what if he isn’t?” Joe asked, voice breaking. “I can’t lose my best friend, Andy.” 

Andy frowned, pulling Joe from his chair and onto the floor. He positioned himself so that he was wrapped around the younger boy, holding him to his chest carefully, and carded a hand through his messy curls. “Andy?” Joe said softly. “What happened?” 

Andy’s hand stilled for a moment, and he took a deep breath. His eyes closed behind his glasses, reddish hair falling into his face as he remembered the scene from only thirty minutes before. “I was coming out of the movie rental place,” he began, resuming his gentle petting of Joe’s hair. “And I saw Patrick and Declan heading towards it across the street, from McDonald’s. I went to go say hi, when Declan dropped something in the middle of the street. A car was coming, and Patrick ran for him and shoved him out of the way, and it hit him. I… I tried to grab him, and he slipped away from me. Part of me thinks it’s my fault, but part of me knows that if I had stopped him, that little kid wouldn’t be alive right now.” 

Andy’s voice was wavering a little. Joe wrapped his arms tightly around the older boy’s waist. They stayed like that for a long time, after Patrick’s friends and family and the Yaos started to show up. 

No one realized that they forgot to call Pete.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom: If you have anything to do on the computer this weekend, you should do it today, because we probably won't have power tomorrow.  
> I love living in Florida, let's hope I don't die tomorrow lmao
> 
> anyway, as promised, here's chapter ten, if anyone can guess who all the women I mention are you win an imaginary cookie

**_PETE_ **

Pete let out a yelp, spinning quickly to untangle himself from Penny and Bogart. The dogs had teamed up to wrap their leashes around their legs, and he nearly tripped and fell on his face. “What the fuck, guys, calm down,” he mumbled, nearly losing Sweet Pea’s leash as he spun around. 

The small dog yelped as he accidentally yanked on her chain, looking at him with watery brown eyes. “Shit, sorry, Pea,” he mumbled, pausing to scratch her behind the ears. 

He’d hardly straightened back up before the dogs were dragging him down the street, tails wagging excitedly as they got closer to the dog park. Once they were through the gate and off of their leashes, all three dogs took off, darting to different corners of the enclosure. Penny jumped on a bulldog named Daisy, who was her best friend, while Bogart bounded over to some other hyper dogs to play chase. Sweet Pea stayed close by, amongst a group of chihuahuas that she seemed to reign over.

Pete made his way over to the picnic tables, settling beside Daisy’s owner, an older woman named Joan. She smiled brightly at him, brushing her black hair from her face. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” she remarked, watching him dig through his backpack.

Pete shrugged, pulling out his US Government notebook and flipping through it for his homework. “Been busy,” he admitted, pulling out a pencil. “School’s been kicking my ass. We haven’t been taking long walks recently. What’s new ‘round the park?”

Joan grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. “Well, Stevie and her boyfriend broke it off - his wife found out,” she whispered conspiratorially, nodding towards the blonde woman a couple of tables over. “And I heard that he’s planning on divorcing her.”

Pete grinned. He loved the dog park gossip. “Oh yeah? What made him finally want to do it?” 

Joan’s eyes glittered with mirth. “That’s the kicker - he fell in love with Stevie’s best friend.” Pete gasped, feeling slightly like a gossiping old lady at the beauty salon. He shook his head, a small smile on his face. 

“Anything new with Gwen or Cyndi?” he asked, watching as Bogart did three flips in the row for a treat from one of said women. He rolled his eyes. The dog was such a pig sometimes. Joan shook her head, but her brown eyes lit up from between her dyed hair. 

“No, but guess what!” she cried, pausing to call for her dog. Daisy came running, Penny trailing close behind. “Daisy-Mae is pregnant!” 

Pete grinned, leaning over to inspect the bulldog. “Really?” he asked, smiling when he saw her slightly swollen stomach. Joan grinned, petting the dog proudly. 

“We’ve got about a month left. Looks like there’s just gonna be one pup, but we aren’t entirely sure - she doesn’t like to stay still for her ultrasounds,” she explained, excitement making her look even younger than she already did. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to keep it. Two dogs, I can handle. Three for a few months. But I can’t raise and take care of three bullies by myself.” 

Pete nodded in understanding, scooping up Penny and pressing a kiss into her soft fur. He glanced at his phone, cursing when he saw the time. “I gotta go, Mom wants to do a family dinner thing or something. I don’t even know.” 

Joan laughed, shaking her head as he clipped Penny’s leash onto her harness. “See you soon, Pete,” she said. “Come see the puppy when it’s born!” 

It took five minutes for Pete to round up Sweet Pea, and even longer to get Bogart to  _ stop fucking running _ and put his leash back on. By the time he had them wrangled, Joan and Daisy had left, and he could hear Stevie laughing at him from her lonely little picnic table. (He considered flipping her off, but decided it would be stupid to flip off a grown woman. He was supposed to be mature - that’s why people trusted him with their dogs in the first place.)

He all but ran back to Brendon’s house, letting Bogart in the front door and calling a greeting into the house so they would know it wasn’t some random stranger. He passed by his and Sarah’s houses on the way to Frank’s, so he stopped to drop off Penny and let his parents know that he was running late. Sweet Pea looked exhausted by the speed they were walking, so after another block, he stopped to pick her up. Her tiny, heavy body settled like a weight in her arms, but she licked his face in appreciation. 

“Damn drama queen,” he mumbled, hoisting her a little higher. 

Frank’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Pete got there, which struck him as odd. It was late, late enough that he would more than likely be home from band by now - Tuesdays were only two hours, rather than four. He jogged up to the door, fumbling with his keys, but it opened before he could locate the skull-topped key to the Iero’s front door.

“Hey, Iero, sorry I’m running la- Mikey?” he said, pausing when he looked up and saw the younger Way brother in the doorway. 

The kid shrugged half-heartedly, eyebrows pulled together and eyes glistening a little. “Gee dropped me off here so Jamia could watch me while he and Frank and Ray went to see Patrick,” he said, opening the door a little wider so that Pete could come in. 

Pete wiped his feet on the mat and entered, crouching beside Sweet Pea to take off her harness and leash. As soon as she was free, she let out a little yap and went scrambling towards Frank’s room. 

“Why are they seeing Patrick?” he asked absently, waving at Jamia when she poked her head out of the kitchen. He hadn’t seen her car, but she did live only a few houses down from the Ieros. She’d probably walked over, which made sense if she was watching Mikey here. Mrs. Iero worked the night shift, so she wouldn’t be home for hours. Her mouth turned down at the corners a little, and she glanced at Mikey. The younger boy waved her away, and she nodded slowly, disappearing back into the Iero’s kitchen. Pete could smell scrambled eggs.

“You don’t know?” Mikey asked, frowning at Pete and pulling on his sleeve. Pete followed him into the living room, where a Netflix movie was paused on the TV. Mikey pushed him towards a couch, and he plopped down with a small bounce. 

“Pete, Patrick’s in the hospital,” he said biting on his lip. His eyes shone even brighter behind his glasses, with what Pete now realized were tears. “He got hit by a car.”

Pete blinked at Mikey, brain slowly registering what he said. It was going to fast, not thinking anything besides, “Patrick” and “car” and “could be dead.”

It didn’t surprise anyone when Pete passed out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeee don't worry the major angsty bits will be over soon lol. This was really supposed to be all fluff. I'm just a mess. Sorry 'bout it. Don't worry though. I've got plans that y'all will _love_
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this is so unedited you would not believe. I hard a,,, rough week,,, and fun fact it's hard to write sappy fluffy things when your heart feels like it's been smashed lmao. But I promised an attempt at updating this weekend and damn if I don't deliver on my promises.

**_PATRICK_ **

_ “I’m here, what happened?”  _

_ “Kevin, what are you doing here?”  _

_ “My brother’s in the hospital, what do you think I’m doing here? He’s important. Way more important than a couple of performances or classes. I’ll make them up - Mom, Mom stop crying. Mom he’ll be okay. We’ll make sure of it. I promise, I promise Rick’ll wake up.”  _

_ It’s silent except for the sobs wracking Patricia Stump’s body, and the quiet sniffles from Kevin as he hugs her and tries not to break down as well. _

* * *

_ “He looks so broken.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Sissy?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” _

_ “Dec, baby no. It’s not your fault It was an accident.” _

_ “I wanted to give you the keychain, I dropped it and went back and Tricky wanted to save me. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  _

_ “Boo Baby, this isn’t your fault, I promise. Baby, no Come back here!”  The sound of a door slamming shut echos through the mostly empty room.  _

* * *

_ “What’d you tell Mikey?” _

_ “Ray…” _

_ “What did you tell him? I’m just asking.” _

_ “The truth. He wanted to come see him, but it’s a lot harder to sneak a twelve-year-old into ICU than it is to sneak in a kid Declan’s age. I think it hurt him more than he wanted to admit that he can’t be here right now. You know he likes Patrick.” _

_ “Where is he right now?” _

_ “Frankie and Linds are with him. They’re seeing a movie or something. I don’t know.” _

_ “Gee, are you okay?” _

_ “That’s a good question.” There’s a quiet hum of understanding from Ray, before a tense silence returns. After a few minutes - or maybe hours - a nurse ushers them from the room. _

* * *

_ “I should have stopped him.” _

_ “It’s not your fault, Andy.” _

_ “I should have stopped him!”  _

_ “If you stopped him, that little boy would be dead right now-”  _

_ “Then I should have pushed him out of the way! That should be me! I deserve to be the one in that bed!”  _

_ “Andy, no you-” _

_ “Just shut up, Joe!” There are angry footsteps and the sound of the door slamming. Silence for a moment, before Joe’s voice break it, thick with tears.  _

_ “I should… go. Please wake up, Trick. I can’t lose you. Andy can’t lose you. Pete… Pete can’t lose you.” Fabric rustles as he gets up, and something small and cold is placed in Patrick’s hand. _

* * *

_ “Lunchbox - can I call you that? It’s a stupid nickname, but I think it fits you. Anyway, Lunchbox, you need to wake up. You need to wake up for me, because my heart hurts every time I look for you in the hall and you aren’t there. You’ve only known me for a couple days, but I’ve seen you around before. Hanging out with Joe, I think? With that Tyler kid. Brendon. You know, your friends. You always seemed so at ease, so happy. It made me happy too. _

_ “My brother is asking about you - Bronx, not Saint. Saint can’t really talk too good yet. They liked you a lot. They don’t like too many babysitters. You’re something special, I guess. That’s good. I like that they like you. Not that I’ll ever tell you when you can hear me. _

_ “It’s only been two days and everyone is already freaking out. You need to wake up to tell Andy and Declan that this isn’t either of their faults okay? I’ve never seen anything sadder than a toddler who thinks he… thinks he killed someone on accident. You gotta tell them it’s okay, because I know you aren’t mad at them. _

_ “You gotta wake up, man. You’re somethin’ special. There’s no one out there like you. It’s… it’s special. Damn it, I’m supposed to be good with words, and here you’ve got me tripping over mine and reusing them over and over. That’s just not fair. _

_ “Joe is crying a lot, you know. You ever see Joe cry? I don’t like it. His face gets… it gets all red and scrunched up and he tries to hide behind that massive mane of his and it doesn’t quite work. I want to hug him, but he always kind of… shrugs me away? Andy’s taking care of him, though. They’d be cute together, you know? I think they like each other. _

_ “Come on, Rickster, wake up. Please? Everyone’s counting on you. I know you can do it.”  _

_ It gets quiet, not even the sound of Pete’s breath interrupting the room. Just the steady beat of the heart monitor hooked up to Patrick permeates the quiet. Finally Pete’s breath comes out in one big sigh, and gentle, quiet sobs, can be heard from next to Patrick’s ear. _

* * *

Everything hurt, and he couldn’t wake up.

The impact was bad, the feeling of a car slamming against his body. Something crunched, someone screamed, and then… nothing. Everything went black.

His first thought when coming back (he didn’t wake up, he just became  _ aware,  _ as if anyone would believe that) was “Declan.” Was Declan okay? If anything happened to him, he’d never forgive himself. 

Patrick’s next thought was the excruciating pain coming from his chest, from his arm, from his head. He wanted to scream, tried to scream, but it was impossible to scream. He couldn’t wake up. It was terrifying, the most terrifying sensation he’d ever felt in his life. He was scared he’d never wake up. He could hear things, could hear his friends but he couldn’t react or tell them it was okay, or do anything except listen.

Except...

Except his eyes finally opened, squinting against the painful glare of the sun reflecting off of bright white walls. There was no one in the room. He gasped in pain when he tried to sit up. That’s when he noticed the heavy cast on his arm, and made note of the thick white bandages wrapped around his chest. It hurt to breathe.

The door creaked open, a brown haired nurse peering into the room. She froze when her eyes landed on Patrick, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. She slowly stepped into the room, crossing her arms over her clipboard. 

“Hello, Mr. Stump,” she said softly. “Glad to see you awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to ask if this chapter is confusing in anyway because tbh it was not what I originally planned to write at all for this part.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff, finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up yesterday but I didn't finish it last night, but then I got mad at my math homework and did this instead so when at least when I fail Pre-Calculus I'll have something to show for it lol this is so unedited I'm sorry guys

**_PETE_ **

Patrick’s blue eyes drooped as he leaned against Pete’s shoulder, a lazy smile on his face. Joe was telling an exaggerated story about the previous day, when he babysat Emilia Smith in place of Patrick. 

“This kid is  _ insane, _ I don’t know how you handle her, man,” Joe said shaking his head. “Her sister just laughed at me when she picked her up, what the fuck?”

Patrick giggled a little, using his uninjured hand to rub his eyes tiredly. “She’s not that bad,” he said with a shrug. “There’s just a, like, fifteen year age difference between her and Hannah, so she’s super spoiled.” He had to speak around a yawn that seemed to swallow his face. 

“Dude, go to sleep,” Pete laughed, pushing Patrick’s head back onto his shoulder pointedly. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Patrick shook his head, pushing Pete away and sitting upright. “I’m awake, it’s fine,” he announced, ducking his head a second later to hide his yawn. 

Joe rolled his eyes and stood up from his place on the floor in front of Patrick’s bed. He crossed the room and flipped off the light. “Sleep, you loser,” he said firmly. “I’m gonna go bother Andy.” He closed the door behind him as he left, plunging the room into near darkness.

The younger boy protested feebly for a few seconds before he finally let sleep win, letting his head fall onto Pete’s shoulder and closing his eyes. It only took a few seconds for him to fall asleep. Pete smiled softly at the younger boy - he looked so peaceful.

It had been a month since the accident, two more weeks until Patrick’s arm and ribs would be (at least mostly) healed. The doctors had said he was doing remarkably well, according to both Patrick and his mother,  but Pete’s stomach still flipped whenever he saw the other boy looking longingly at a guitar, unable to play it with the cast on his arm. It pained him to see Patrick so unhappy. 

The only benefit was that Pete got to spend more time with Patrick than he would have otherwise. With his broken bones, he wasn’t allowed to babysit, for fear that chasing children around or having to pick one of them up would cause more problems. He’d taken to hitching a ride home with Pete and joining him as he walked the dogs, more as a way to procrastinate in doing his homework than anything. One day, they went to the dog park and spent three hours talking and laughing in the cool autumn air, only returning when Frank called because “where the fuck is my dog, Pete, you were supposed to bring her home before I got back.” 

Pete’s phone buzzing on the bedside table broke the silence that had fallen as Patrick slept, making Pete jump slightly. He carefully slid Patrick off of his shoulder, laying the other boy’s head on a pillow gently. As an afterthought, he removed his plastic rimmed glasses and set them on the table before grabbing his phone and creeping out of the room.

“Hello?” he asked, closing the door gently behind him.

“Pete!” Joan’s cheery voice nearly made him jump. “How’ve you been, kid?” 

“I’m good, Joan,” he said easily, leaning against the wall in the hallway. “Sorry I haven’t been around much, my friend got into an accident and I’ve been trying to cheer him up. The one day we went to the park, we didn’t see you there.”

Joan laughed from the other end of the phone. “I hope your friend is okay,” she said sincerely, but Pete could practically hear how excited she was behind the words. “I haven’t been at the park recently because, well… Daisy had her puppy!” 

Pete couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “She did?” he asked, pushing the bedroom door open a crack to check up on Patrick. The younger boy was still sleeping peacefully, curled up on the bed around a toy bear that had been tucked in between the pillows and strawberry blonde hair spread around his head. Pete grinned - he was adorable. 

“Pete, honey, are you distracted?” Joan asked knowingly, startling Pete.

“Sorry, Joan,” he said awkwardly, closing the door again and mentally slapping himself upside the head. He needed to stop this crush on Patrick. It was getting ridiculous. “I was checking on ‘Trick. He’s sleeping right now, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t wake him up or something when I left the room.”

“Ooh, is Trick your friend?” Joan asked. Pete could  _ hear _ her grin. “You should bring him by, too.” 

“Bring him where?” Pete was confused. What on Earth was Joan talking about?

“To see Daisy’s puppy,” she replied cheerily. “He’s a sweetheart, you’ll love him.” 

Pete shrugged, eyes darting back towards his bedroom door. He did love puppies, and Patrick was sleeping over. Maybe seeing it would cheer him up. “Yeah, sure. What time?”

“Any time, kiddo,” Joan said. “You know where to find me, just shoot me a text when you’re on your way.” Pete agreed, and they said their goodbyes. He returned to the bedroom and settled into a beanbag chair with a book, intent on waiting for Patrick to wake up.

He didn’t have to wait long. 

Patrick woke up about five minutes later, looking around blearily. He sat up quickly, looking around in slight panic until his gaze settled on Pete. The anxiety seemed to leave his body as he sat up, raising his eyebrows at Pete when he saw the older boy hiding a giggle.

“I thought you left,” he said, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

“Nah, I was just on the phone and then I didn’t wanna wake you up,” Pete said shaking his head. He didn’t like the way Patrick looked when he said that - more than sad, he seemed straight up dejected. “Speaking of, I got somethin’ that’ll cheer you up, if you’re up to leaving the house.”

“What is it?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows. He reached over to the table to slide his glasses onto his nose, blushing when he noticed the teddy bear that was still in one of his hands. 

“That’ll ruin the surprise. How could you think so poorly of me?” Pete joked, gasping theatrically and clutching at his chest. Patrick smiled a little, and Pete counted it as a victory. “C’mon, Rickster, let’s go do something fun.”

 

The drive to Joan’s house  was relatively short, as she only lived three streets down from Patrick. Still, the smaller boy seemed uncertain the entire ride, studying Pete from the corner of his eye as though he expected him to pull up to some sort of murder house or something. When they pulled into the driveway, he seemed hesitant to get out of the car, eyes flickering between the the sports car parked in the garage and the front of the house. 

“Pete, what are we doing here?” he asked, finally getting out of the car and meeting the older boy in front of it. 

“You’ll see,” Pete grinned. “Relax, Joan’s a good friend of my mom’s. And of mine, incidentally. Come on ‘Trick, you’ll love it.”

Patrick followed Pete warily up the steps of Joan’s front porch, standing awkwardly behind him as he rang the bell. He crossed his arms awkwardly, probably trying to draw attention away from his bright orange cast. Pete shot him a grin over his shoulder as Joan opened the door, her black bangs falling into her eyes as she shoved one of her dogs back with her foot. “Pete! Welcome,” she grinned, finally getting the dog to fall back enough for her to let the two teenagers in. She turned to Patrick with a smile. “And you must be Patrick. I can see why Pete likes you.”

Patrick blushed and stuttered out some semblance of thanks while Pete protested indignantly. They squeezed in the door and were promptly greeted by Daisy and Theo, Joan’s two adult bulldogs. The other two started talking, so Patrick grinned as he bent a little to pet them, wincing at a slight twinge of pain in his ribs.

“Daisy and Theo are sweethearts,” Joan said kindly, making Patrick jump a little. “But come in here and meet the baby.”

She stepped over a baby gate that cut the living room off from the rest of the house with surprising ease. Pete followed close behind, pausing to help Patrick over it to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. His face was faintly pink when both his feet were back on solid ground, and Pete didn’t want to admit how adorable it was. Joan smiled mischievously before leading them to a large dog bed in one corner of the room, where a small bulldog puppy was curled up in the corner, fast asleep. Pete felt his heart melt a little as he kneeled on the floor in front of it, cooing without even realizing it.

“He’s adorable, isn’t he?” Joan asked, kneeling beside Pete. Patrick hummed in agreement and settled on Pete’s other side, practically behind him. Without thinking about it, Pete pulled him forwards until he was practically in the older boy’s lap, hooking his chin over his shoulder so that he could see the snoozing puppy. “He hasn’t got a name yet - I didn’t want to get too attached. Also, I couldn’t really think of a good one.”

“Why not?” Patrick asked with a small frown, reaching out at Joan’s urgence to scratch him behind his tiny ears. The puppy yawned and stretched its head towards Patrick’s hand. 

“Can’t keep him,” Joan said sadly. “Not with Daisy and Theo. He was an accident, frankly. Stupidity on my part. They’re both fixed now, and I’m taking this little guy in as soon as I can, but. Well. Three dogs is a lot for one person.” She looked meaningfully at Pete, who raised his eyebrows in response. What did she want? Him to adopt it?

“What about Hemingway?” he asked, reaching around Patrick to pet the puppy. He carefully picked him up and placed him in the younger boy’s lap, heart filling with warmth at the smile that crossed his friend’s face. 

Joan looked thoughtful. “For a name?” she asked, peering down at the puppy in Patrick’s lap. “I like it. Hemingway it is - Hemmy for short.”

“Hi, Hemmy,” Patrick said softly, scratching the dog under his chin. The newly christened Hemingway yawned again. Pete stared at it in amazement. He couldn’t get over how small he was, so little that he couldn’t yet walk or even see. It was astonishing.

They left Joan’s house three hours later with smiles bigger than they had been since Patrick’s accident. Pete felt like he had successfully flown to the moon and back every time Patrick looked over at him and laughed on the way back to his house. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, I'm sorry, the weekend was crazy. Also, I had no idea what I was going to do for this chapter until, like, Sunday night. And even now, it's taken a different turn than I planned for. Whoops. 
> 
> Warnings: underage drinking, also Patrick gets a little panicky? Idk man

**_PATRICK_ **

 

Patrick leaned against the bar of Trixie’s, his hand wrapped around a glass of root beer. His hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, blue eyes scanning the crowd. The bass reverberated through his chest, through the floor of the club and up through the ancient bar. Where were his friends?

“Something wrong, kid?” the bartender asked, putting down the glass he was cleaning and leaning on the bar. Patrick jumped, shaking his head quickly.

“Just looking for someone,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the music that was blasting from speakers near the dancefloor. He used his other hand, the one still in a heavy cast, to carefully push his hair off his face, grunting in annoyance when it fell back.

Maybe they’d left, he decided. Maybe Andy and Joe and Pete had decided to leave and had forgotten the small fourth member of their group, hanging by the bar for fear of injuring himself or someone else if he joined in the dancing and the drinking and the flirting. Maybe they’d done it on purpose, abandoning him because he was boring, and annoying, and, to use a term from a movie that Mikey had watched with him, the DUFF. (Neither boy would admit to watching the movie, though. That just wouldn’t be cool.) Maybe-

And then Pete was at his side, yelling an order to the bartender over the music and plopping himself on the stool beside Patrick’s. He noticed the way the younger boy was staring at him with wide, surprised eyes, and the hair stuck to his forehead. Without thinking about it, he pushed his hair from his face, dropping an absent kiss to the palm of his hand and pressing it  against the boy’s cheek. Patrick continued staring at him in confusion as he turned to exchange a few crumpled bills for a glass mug of foaming amber.

“What?” Pete asked, taking a long sip of the beer he’d been given.

“You… I… What was that?” Patrick spluttered indignantly, gesturing at his own face as if it explained everything. Pete shrugged absently.

“You couldn’t fix it, so I figured I would,” he replied, eyes scanning his face for any sign of discomfort. He didn’t appear to find any, which was evident in his small sigh of relief. He straightened up only a moment later, concern flashing through his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

There was something off about Pete’s voice, something tight and worried in a way that Patrick hadn’t heard it before. “Nothing’s wrong, Pete,” he assured him, still silently trying to assauge his fears that his friends had left him. Because there was no way they had, not with Pete here.

“Tell me,” Pete insisted, turning on his tool to face him, a clear indication that this was Serious Business and that Patrick wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. 

The smaller boy had just resigned himself to his fate, taking a sip of his soda to gather his thoughts and formulate a lie, when a girl appeared at Pete’s side to hang off of his arm.

“Pete!” she squealed, and Patrick was amazed she could be heard over the music. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.” She giggled and fluttered her eyelashes and Pete’s attention was completely diverted to the thin, pretty,  _ girl _ next to him. 

“Yeah, well, Andy, Joe, and Trick were getting a little tired of just hanging out at Andy’s place, you know?” he grinned, and Patrick hated the way his stomach flipped at the sight. That wasn’t supposed to happen, that stupid, flirty grin wasn’t even directed at him. 

The girl glanced at Patrick, taking in his sweaty face and flushed, pale skin, and raised a eyebrow. “Come on, Pete, Ashlee will be  _ so happy _ to know you’re here,” she said, tugging at his arm. “I know you two  _ hit it off _ last time you were here, and she’s just  _ dying _ to talk about Arma again.” She sent a pointed look over his shoulder to Patrick, as if she knew what he was thinking.

To his credit, Pete looked like he very much doubted that this Ashlee girl actually cared about the band he was in with Andy. He even paused before sliding off the stool, raising his eyebrows at Patrick as if to apologize. “Only if it’s cool with ‘Trick,” he agreed, and said boy tried not to be simultaneously glad that he was using the nickname in front of others, jealous of the meaningful look the girl had given Pete when she mentioned how he ‘hit it off’ with Ashlee.

“He’ll be fine,” the girl said dismissively, smiling brightly at Patrick. Patrick turned beet red, wishing he had a hat or a hoodie to duck under as he nodded in agreement. He didn’t think he  _ would _ be fine, actually, but there wasn’t much he could do about it as the girl dragged Pete back through the crowd.

Being alone wasn’t that bad, he mused at least thirty minutes later. He watched a drop of condensation slip down the side of his glass, tracing its trail with his pinky. Though, it  _ was _ getting late, which meant he’d have to like, get an Uber or a cab or something soon, probably, seeing as he hadn’t seen any signs of his friends since Pete’s disappearance. That was fine, really it was. Patrick was fine with it.

Okay, yeah, maybe he’d been hoping to see Pete head back to him, content to spend however long it took until Joe and Andy emerged seated at the bar. But really, he couldn’t expect Pete to not have other friends. Everyone had other friends. (Except Patrick.)

(That wasn’t fair, he reminded himself. Gerard and Frank were his friends, and Elisa, and Brendon, and William and Gabe were sometimes. But they weren’t people he’d really  _ hang out with _ , not like he hung out with Joe, and more recently Andy and Pete.)

“Dude, why the long face?” Joe’s voice surprised Patrick and his head jerked up from staring forlornly into his Coke. “Also, where the hell is Pete?”

Patrick shrugged. “With someone named Ashlee, I’d imagine,” he said, barely keeping the spite from his words. 

Joe raised his eyebrows, taking the stool that Pete had vacated almost forty-five minutes earlier at this point. “Why’s he with her? They hooked up, like, a year ago. At  _ least. _ ” The casual way he said it made it clear that this wasn’t a big secret, but rather something that everyone knew. Everyone except Patrick. He was starting to sense a pattern here. 

He felt his heart sinking. Of course Pete was into girls. Patrick then shook himself mentally - he wasn’t into Pete. He  _ wasn’t. _ “Oh, yeah?” he asked, feigning interest. Something about the way he said it must have set off a couple of alarms in his friend’s head, as Joe studied him for a few long moments.

“Pat,” he began, raising his eyebrows as he was cut off by Patrick’s angry grumble of “don’t call me that.” An eyeroll was his only response before he plowed ahead.

“Patrick,” he began again, making sure to emphasize the second syllable of his friend’s name. “Just a question, punch me if I’m wrong, but do you, you know, like Pete?” 

Patrick glowered at him, hands curling into fists. He didn’t like Pete! At least, that’s what he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to punch his best friend, even as Joe was squeezing his eyes shut and shying away from the expected blow. After a few tense seconds, he opened his eyes again, surprise and a little bit of amusement coloring his features.

“You’re crazy,” he snapped, but there was no heat to his words. He frowned as Joe began to grin, turning away and crossing his arms on the bar. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Only a one beer,” Joe replied easily, lazy, shit-eating grin adorning his face. “You’re dodging the question.”

Patrick dropped his head, forehead landing on his intact arm, and let out a long groan. “I don’t like him,” he said, voice muffled through the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Sure you don’t,” his friend agreed, poking Patrick in the side. “That’s why you’re all mopey and jealous.” 

“Fuck off,” Patrick grumbled. 

Joe did nothing of the sort, spinning himself so he could rest his elbows against the bar and crowd-watch lazily. He hummed thoughtfully, watching Patrick with the corner of his eye. “It all makes sense now - you waking up after he talked to you, you two being attached at the hip,” he commented, excitedly tapping his fingers against the side of the bar. “You like him!”

Patrick sat up and glowered at him, reddish-blond hair sticking up in several directions from his time spent pressed against his arm. “Fine, okay, I do. I like Pete,” he snapped, closing his eyes to block out the headache he was getting from the stress and the yelling and the music. “But you can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Trohman. Not a soul.”

“Fine, fine,” Joe agreed easily. He wasn’t a lot of things, but he  _ was _ a trustworthy friend, so Patrick believed him. It was quiet for a moment, before, “You should date him.”

Patrick snorted. “Pete’s straight,” he shrugged. A vaguely malicious look appeared in his eye. “And anyway, not unless you date Andy first.”

Joe spluttered indignantly. “I’m not, I don’t, I, where’d you hear that?” he asked, face redder than even Patrick’s. 

A grin to rival Joe’s crept onto Patrick’s face. “You’re not the only observant one, JoeTroh,” he sad fondly. “Though, seriously, you could have just told me you’re not straight.” He took pleasure in his friend’s glare. 

“You can’t tell anyone, especially not Andy,” he said seriously. As an afterthought, he added, “or my parents.”

“I won’t, as long as you don’t tell about Pete,” Patrick promised, holding out his pinky. Joe rolled his eyes and wrapped his pinky around Patrick’s shorter, slightly pudgier one. 

“You got yourself a deal, Stump-Man,” he agreed, leaning over to steal the glass of Coke that Patrick had abandoned on the counter. He took a long swig before hopping off of the barstool. “Let’s go find those loser and get home,” he added, pulling Patrick into the crowd before he could protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should be called: I tried really hard not to make it sound like I was slut-shaming the girls because that isn't okay and yet it's still so stereotypical I'm SORRY


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I'm sorry I had to take a mental break from fic-writing for the past couple weeks because sO MUCH HAS HAPPENED IN MY LIFE OKAY. It was a close call, I almost just skipped to Peterick's making out, but I will stick to some semblance of my original plot gosh darn it.
> 
> There's really no warnings here but lemme know if there's something I should add okay okay

**_PETE_ **

Ashlee grinned at him from under her long hair, blinking at him with heavily lined eyes. “Sorry about her, Jessica means well, but she’s a little drunk right now,” she said, watching her sister disappear back into the crowd, a bottle held over her head. “She didn’t steal you away from anything important, did she?”

Pete glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning over the heads of the throng towards the bar. It was out of his view, but Ashlee followed his eyes nonetheless, smiling softly and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Got a date, then?” she asked idly, smirking at the surprised look on his face. “What’s her name?”

“It’s not a date,” Pete said defensively, his brown eyes widening in surprise. “Patrick’s just a friend.”

Ashlee sunk further into the booth she was settled in, propping her feet up on the seat of the booth and crossing her ankles. “I don’t buy it, but okay, Wentz,” she said, resting her head against the wall.

“I came out to have a good time, and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now,” he spat back, biting his lip to hide the grin from her.

She rolled her eyes, letting the flutter closed momentarily. “Okay, meme queen,” she muttered. “That one’s so old, though, honestly.” 

They settled into a semi-comfortable silence, watching the way that the few dozen people squished onto the dancefloor moved together as if they were one giant mass. A girl nearly fell as she left, leaning heavily on her boyfriend as she navigated the sticky floor with her spindly heels, and Ashlee covered her mouth to keep herself from giggling.

“Can I ask you a question, Pete?” she asked after a few minutes, sitting up to lean over the table in between them. He nodded for her to go ahead, turning to face her at a glimpse of her serious expression. 

Ashlee leaned forward, a small frown tugging at the corner of her lips. “Pete, honey, I…” she paused, bit her lip, and seemed to reword the question before continuing. “Pete, are you gay?” 

Pete’s eyebrows shot up, and he began shaking his head quickly. “Wow, um, no? I’m not?” he said, voice raising so he sounded more questioning than defensive. Ashlee pursed her lips, disbelief clear on her face. Pete winced.

“I’m not!” he exclaimed. “Bi, though, now that’s another story.”

“That explains so much,” she replied, eyes wide. She propped her chin up on her hand and smiled. “Tell me about this Patrick kid, that you’re definitely just-friends with.”

“Ash!” 

The smirk on her face was downright terrifying, and he was pretty sure she’d picked it from him. “Pete!” she replied mockingly. “Look around, honey. I could be with any guy I wanted tonight, but instead I’m sitting here with you - the least you can do is tell me about Patrick the Just-Friend.”

Pete let out an exaggerated sigh, but soon spilled everything to his surprisingly interested companion. He didn’t even register what all he was saying, not noticing when the words “he’s adorable when” and “and he’s so important” slipped out of his mouth alongside descriptions of his favorite hoodie and recounting the car accident and resulting coma. 

Partway through his story about Patrick’s joy when they went to visit Joan and Hemmingway, he noticed the way she tapped nervously on the tabletop, a habit that he remembered came when she needed to step outside to smoke.

“Need a break?” he asked, scanning for a semi-clear path to one of the doors. Ashlee jumped, shaking her head quickly and offering a flash of a smile.

“Nah, I’m trying to quit. Mom doesn’t want me to be a bad influence on the little kids,” she admitted, biting on her lower lip embarrassedly. Pete nodded understandingly. 

“That makes sense,” he agreed. “There’s what, two of them, now?” 

“Three!” Ashlee grinned, pulling her phone out of her pocket to show off pictures of her youngest foster sister. The conversation slowed for a moment until the crowd surged closer to the stage, giving Pete glimpse of a familiar head of curls dragging a small strawberry-blond through the crowd. 

Joe shoved his way through the people, using his shoulders to squeeze by and dragging Patrick through the temporary holes left behind. He darted forward, breaking through the crowd and darting towards the table that Pete and Ashlee were camped out at. 

“There you are, Wentz, you ready to head out yet?” Joe asked, pulling Patrick up beside him and throwing an arm over his shoulder. 

Fighting the way his stomach flipped in jealousy, Pete smiled past him at Patrick. “Sure thing. You okay, Tricky?” 

Patrick nodded quickly, eyes flitting between him and Ashlee before they began to stare at a sticky ring from a cup on the table. “I’m fine, just tired,” he shrugged. Something passed through his blue eyes that Pete didn’t recognized, but had him mildly concerned. 

He glanced at Ashlee, who was smirking at him knowingly, her grey eyes conveying that she had  _ definitely _ noticed. “I’ll leave you three to it, then,” she said sweetly, sliding off of the bench. “I should find Jess anyway, who knows what she’s getting up to without me. See ya later, Pete. Text me if you wanna continue our conversation sometime.” With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

“So, we should find Hurley, and get out of here, then?” Pete asked, scooting out of the seat. 

Joe slipped his phone out of his pocket, holding up a finger on the hand that was thrown around Patrick, and tapped away with his other hand for a moment. “He’s out back,” he said a moment later. “He’s reading a comic book, and waiting for us. I told him we’d meet him around front.”

“How’d you manage that?” Pete asked in awe, catching Patrick’s hand with his own when Joe finally let him go. “Andy  _ never _ texts back right away.”

Sticking out his tongue cheekily, Joe grinned widely. “He just likes me better,” he teased. Pete didn’t quite miss the red tint to his cheeks as he said it, or the sneaky side-glance that Patrick gave him. He filed that information away for later, falling into the backseat of Andy’s car with a sigh and pulling Patrick against him so they could slouch comfortably across the bench. 

He fell asleep with Patrick’s head tucked into his neck and the sound of Andy and Joe laughing softly from the front seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I know very little about actual Ashlee Simpson, sorryyyyyy* 
> 
> wow there was no real plot advancement in this bit #sorrynotsorry


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sucks!!! this chapter is so short and bad I'm sorry but ya'll have been waiting and you deserved something so here you go have this

**_PATRICK_ **

Three minutes after Patrick walked out of the hospital, his arm finally free from its (so, so itchy) cast, his phone rang. Seeing as he was stuck walking home anyway, considering he was unable to drive to the hospital by himself with the cast, he fumbled with the phone to answer it, grinning when he saw Pete’s face and name (The Totally Awesome Pete Wentz) lighting up the screen.

“Rickster!” Pete crowed as soon as he answered. Patrick cringed away from the phone, but he couldn’t deny the light feeling the ridiculous nickname left behind.

“Hey, Pete,” he replied, glancing both ways carefully before darting across the street at the crosswalk. His heart was pounding in his chest, despite the absence of cars. Idly, he wondered if he’d ever be able to cross a street without fear again.

“So, like, you know how it’s almost Thanksgiving?” he asked quickly, stumbling over his words. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. How could he forget? They only had two days of school this week before getting off for break. “Yeah?” he replied, feigning casualty as he passed Joan’s street. He and Pete had gone by to see the puppy a few more times in the past two weeks. Hemmy was honestly the cutest puppy Patrick had ever seen, and he couldn’t believe that Joan hadn’t found anyone to adopt him yet.

There was a crackle of static in Patrick’s ear, indicating that Pete had let out a long-suffering sigh. “My parents forgot about some dumb fancy thing at my grandmother’s, and she doesn’t like kids, and, basically, I was wondering if you would watch Bronx for a few hours?”

A small smile spread across Patrick’s face. “Not Saint?” he asked, pausing on the sidewalk for a moment. He tugged the sleeve of his hoodie over the knuckles of his free hand, the one recently removed from a cast. 

“Mom argued for Saint to come with, since he’s so little, and it’s a family thing anyway,” Pete said. “Anyway, you good to watch Bronx for a while? I know it’s last minute and stuff, but he asked for you, ya know?” 

“When do you want me there?” Patrick interrupted when Pete took a breath, raising his eyebrows.

His hair flopped into his eyes as a breeze blew down the street. “Like, now? Or as soon as possible, anyway,” Pete said quickly, his relief clear in his voice.

“I’m around the corner,” Patrick added, eyes landing on the street sign for Pete’s street. He turned down the street and half-jogged down the sidewalk as Pete cheered in his ear and hung up. A few moments later, he knocked on Pete’s door, playing with zipper of his hoodie as he waited for someone to answer the door.

Bronx appeared at the door, his eyes lighting up when he saw the teenager in front of him. “Patrick! Your cast is gone!” he cried, throwing his arms around the boy’s waist. Patrick laughed, flexing his fingers a little stiffly.

“I was on my way home from getting it off when your brother called,” he informed him. Bronx’s eyes lit up in fascination when Patrick pulled up his sleeve for him to inspect the dried and slightly scaly skin.

Pete slid into the foyer in his socks, wearing a pair of nice slacks and a white button down shirt that was buttoned wrong. “Wait, that was today?” he asked, eying the newly freed arm. “I was gonna pick you up, fu-udge.” Patrick giggled at the way he quickly censored himself with a glance at his little brother.

“It’s fine, Pete,” Patrick said quietly as Bronx grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the living room. He plopped down in front of the coffee table and continued working on the half-finished Lego masterpiece that was spread across its surface. 

Pete rolled his eyes, patting him on the back and disappearing back up the stairs. Patrick thought he heard the older boy announcing that he was there to his parents, but no one came down the stairs to check, so he shrugged and joined Bronx on the floor. The boy quickly began to instruct him in the construction of his...something. (Patrick wasn’t really sure what was happening there.)

Thirty minutes later, the Wentz family gathered in the foyer, Patrick hovering in the doorway. Dale and Peter leaned over and kissed Bronx on the cheek, muttering to him some that Patrick assumed was parent-y and loving, based on the wide smile on Bronx’s face. Dale then took Saint out of Pete’s arms, smiled at Patrick, and pulled the door open, sweeping out to the car.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Peter added, smiling at the three boys before following his wife out of the house. 

Bronx disappeared back into the living room, returning, more than likely, to his Lego-Whatever, and grinning sneakily at his older brother before leaving. Said brother glared at him and made a shooing motion.

“So, um, I, well,” Pete stuttered for a moment, uncharacteristically speechless for once. Patrick scratched awkwardly at his arm, breath hitching as Pete took a step closer.  _ What is he doing? _

The older boy caught his lower lip between his teeth and it was just so  _ hot _ , that Patrick had to take a moment to remind himself that Pete was one of his best friends, and that his little brother was in the next room. Now was definitely not the time.

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Pete promised, and  _ damn _ he was close enough that his breath brushed across Patrick’s face.

“O-Okay,” Patrick stuttered out, subconsciously pulling his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes flicked towards the door. “You should… go.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah, grandmother waiting and all that,” he muttered. Patrick was pretty sure he was staring at his lips.

Just as he opened his mouth to say goodbye, Pete surged forward, pressing his lips against the shorter boy's. A gasp slipped out of Patrick’s mouth, but he melted into the kiss easily. Almost of their own accord, his arms wrapped around Pete's neck his neck, and Pete’s hands rested on his hips to drag him closer.

When they broke apart, Patrick stared at his friend with wide eyes for a moment, before Pete let go and darted out the door. He gazed after him, his eyes lingering on the door before Bronx appeared at his side asking for pizza rolls.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR 
> 
>  
> 
> Please don't hate me.

**_PETE_ **

Pete nearly threw himself into the Rover, his heart pounding out of his chest. He buckled his seatbelt quickly and shot his mother a thumbs up through the rearview mirror. She eyed him suspiciously from the passenger seat, but shrugged and told his father to drive. 

With his parents safely engaged in conversation and his brother napping in his car seat, Pete slouched down in his spot and mulled over the events of the past five minutes. He couldn’t believe he’d actually  _ done _ it, that he’d actually kissed Patrick the way he’d been planning to with the help of Bronx - sometimes he was grateful for his nosy little brother. And then he’d just  _ bolted _ like the coward he is, disappeared into the night with muttered excuses about a dinner at his grandmother’s house. (And, sure, the reasoning was true, but it didn’t stop it from seeming cowardly.)

With a small, nearly unnoticeable sigh, Pete squirmed in his seat, fishing his phone from his pocket. He shot off a text to Joe that consisted of three exclamation points, a heart, and the frowning sweat-drop [emoji](http://emojipedia.org/face-with-cold-sweat/) . Let the boy figure that one out for himself. 

Within seconds there was a reply of two question marks, followed by a snapchat of him and Andy with puzzled faces and the caption “wtf dude.” Pete typed back a quick reply and set his phone down, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. The rest of the drive to his grandmother’s house felt endlessly long. 

As his father typed in the code to get into her gated community, Pete checked his phone again. There were several replies from Joe across various social media forms, all with some variation of  _ “literally wtf did you do, Patrick is freaking out” _ but no sign of said boy. Pete leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed softly. He’d probably just completely ruined their friendship. Why was he such an impulsive idiot?

A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that Patrick kissed him back. He ignored the voice in favor letting his panic build - that was something he knew how to deal with. The car stopped in front of his grandmother’s house, and Pete pushed all thoughts of kissing Patrick to the back of his mind where he could ignore them easily. This dinner would be long enough without the added stress.

 

After sitting through the thirteenth relative who commented on how Pete was “so short for seventeen” he decided that he was definitely over this family gathering. His mother shot him a warning glance as he crossed his arms and slunk low in his chair, so he heaved a dramatic sigh and sat upright. His timing was apparently excellent, as his grandmother chose that moment to approach where he and his parents were sitting, tucked away in the corner of the room.

As she approached, eying the way his mother was carefully balancing Saint in her lap, Pete caught sight of his grandmother’s frown. It was enough to make him want to fight an old woman. She’d never been particularly fond of children, having left the raising of Pete’s father, aunt, and uncles, to others when they were young, and found them particularly intolerable from the birth to the age of twelve - when they were old enough to learn to behave themselves properly. It didn’t help that she found Pete’s part of the family particularly reprehensible. Their every decision, from the color of his mother’s skin to the adoption of his brothers, seemed to disgust the Wentz matriarch. It made his blood boil.

“Hello, Peter,” she said, coming to a stop in front of Pete’s father. He quickly stood up and offered her a seat beside his wife, but Grandmother refused.

“Hello, Mother,” he replied, voice straining just a little bit. “Happy Thanksgiving.” 

Grandmother pursed her lips and eyed Pete, who was making faces at his baby brother and very pointedly not looking at her. “To you as well,” she said tightly. Pete glanced up to see her flashing a carefully controlled smile. She turned to Pete and he felt his entire body tense up, straightening his spine and fixing her with a bored glance when his mother nudged him with her elbow.

“Peter, darling,” she cooed. Pete nearly winced at how fake it sounded. “You finally cut your hair. And you’re how old now? Fifteen?”

“It’s Pete,” he corrected quickly, raising his eyebrows. He knew she knew how old he was, and it had been at least two years since he’d kept his hair long and flat-ironed. She was trying to get under his skin. He refused to let her. “I’m seventeen, Grandmother.”

She appraised him slowly, eyes resting on the peep of colored ink from under his long sleeves. “Hm, really, Peter? You don’t look it. Time just flies when you’re old like me.” She laughed slightly and he gave a controlled chuckle, plastering on the most obviously fake smile he could.

There was an awkward pause before Pete’s father cleared his throat and stood again, holding out a hand for his wife to take. “We should really get going, Mother,” he said, voice thick with faked regret. “It’s almost time for Saint to go to bed, and we promised Bronx’s babysitter we would only be a few hours - poor kid has a big test tomorrow.”

Pete knew his father was lying. Patrick had no such test. But he was two relieved to call him out on it, especially in front of his grandmother.

After awkward small talk and excuses, the family finally made their escape, and a wave of relief washed over the car as they left the neighborhood. “Well,” Pete’s mother said finally, leaning back in her seat. “That was… something.”

“We could have been at home having a family game night,” Pete’s father complained, knuckles still white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. “Instead of being paraded about in front of my family like the black sheep.”

Pete laughed a little. “Dad, we never have family game nights,” he pointed out, raising his eyebrows and sharing a grin with his mother.

“But we  _ could _ ,” Pete’s father replied with a pout. Pete rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket, playing a game and resolutely ignoring the number of messages he’d amassed from his friends. 

 

When they got to the house, his grateful parents paid Patrick and set to work getting the younger kids ready for bed, leaving the two teenagers alone downstairs. Pete shifted awkwardly between his feet trying to ignore the screaming chant of  _ “you stupid fuck!” _ currently occurring in his head.

“Um, Pete, I, uh,” Patrick started, staring at the floor. 

In a panic, Pete let his mouth run before letting himself think, cutting off whatever Patrick intended to say in a flurry of words. “Listen, Rickster, we don’t have to talk about what happened,” he rambled, eyes locked firmly on a spot past Patrick’s head. “Honestly, I was just being impulsive and it was a stupid mistake. It won’t happen again, don’t worry about it.”

Patrick stared at him with wide blue eyes, a small frown tugging on the edges of his mouth. He smiled at Pete awkwardly, but it seemed painful and strained. “Oh, that’s, um, good then,” he said nodding once as if to reassure Pete. “I have to go so… see you.” 

Before Pete could say anything, Patrick was out the door. Pete let out a groan and fell back into his dad’s recliner. “That couldn’t have gone any worse if I tried,” he mumbled to himself, glaring at the television as if it could go back and change what he’s said if he looked at it hard enough. “I’m so stupid.” 

He waited for a moment, half-hoping Patrick would come running back to tell him that no, it did mean something to him, to argue against every stupid word that had come out of Pete’s mouth (every stupid lie), and listen to Pete apologize and kiss him again. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t happen, and Pete resigned himself to a life of loneliness as he finally dragged himself to his bedroom. He couldn’t wait to hear what Andy and Joe had to say about this mess.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait and the subpar update, whoops. Sorry!!!!

**_PATRICK_ **

Patrick jumped as the ball hit him in the head, wincing as a red mark blossomed across his cheek. “Sorry,” he muttered, chasing after the orange ball as it bounced down the Way’s driveway.

Mikey let out a long groan. “Why are we even out here if you’re not gonna pay attention?” he whined, simultaneously shivering in the chilly air and wiping sweat out of his face. He scowled as Patrick hurried back, crossing his arms indignantly.

“Exercise is good for you,” he informed Mikey, throwing the ball towards the preteen. Mikey flinched and caught it right before it hit him in the face.

“I wanna go back inside,” he complained. “You keep getting distracted anyway. It’s not that important.”

Patrick frowned, jumping up to catch the ball when Mikey threw it back. “I’m not distracted,” he said pointedly. “And your gym coach said that he won’t fail you  _ if  _ Gee and I can prove that you’re actually doing physical stuff. I’m saving your ass here.”

“Gee says I’m not allowed to say ‘ass.’” 

“Mikey, you know that’s not true.” Patrick rolled his eyes and tucked the ball under his arm. “You’ve never failed a class before. What’s wrong?”

Mikey looked annoyed and a little embarrassed. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he frowned. “You’re the one who’s being weird.”

Patrick spluttered, face turning brilliantly red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he announced, motioning towards the house. Mikey let out a small sigh of relief and turned on his heel, stalking in through the front door. Patrick rolled his eyes and followed the boy, closing the door behind him. He turned around to find himself being stared down by a disgruntled twelve-year-old. 

“You’re not even supposed to be playing basketball with your hand,” he reminded him, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in an almost perfect imitation of a pissed off Lindsey Ballato. The resemblance was truly uncanny. “Is this about Pete?” 

Patrick froze. “I’m sorry, what?” he managed around the ball of panic in his throat. Where the hell did Mikey get that from?

“Pete,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “You know, since he kissed you.”

“How did you know that?” Patrick said, a little wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Mikey knew way too much, he decided.

Mikey shrugged. “Bronx told me when I was helping Lindsey out the other day,” he said with a nod. “Not the point. What happened.”

Patrick groaned running a hand through his hair. Why was he even considering telling a kid this, even if it was Mikey? His hands shook a little bit. “Listen, Mikey, it was a silly thing, and- and- and it was a one-time thing and that’s all.”

The kid looked unconvinced. “Why?” he asked. Patrick flushed, wincing at the question he expected but didn’t want to hear.

“Listen, he doesn’t like me like that, okay?” he explained with a long sigh, closing his eyes and covering his face. “I thought he did, I really did think he liked me, that’s the thing. There was just… there was something in the kiss, something real. And then I assumed that maybe he felt it. But he didn’t, because when he got back, he said… he said that it didn’t mean anything, Mikes. He called it a stupid mistake. And now it’s been three weeks, and we haven’t talked, and he hasn’t looked at me, and I just. I was so wrong, wasn’t I? I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

Mikey let out a small gasp, eyes drifting just behind Patrick. The teenager whipped around, eyes meeting Joe’s. His friend had a deep frown on his face, his knuckles nearly white from gripping the handles of plastic bag far too tightly. 

“He said that?” he asked slowly, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. Patrick shrugged, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Um, yeah, he did,” he admitted, suddenly hating himself for the outburst. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now Mikey would see that he was an idiot who shouldn’t be looked up to, and Joe would tell him he was ridiculous to even  _ think _ that it meant anything to Pete, and he decided that if there was any way for him to leave the Way home early, he would do it right now to get out of this situation. Going home, burying himself in his blankets, and not emerging until no one remembered the kiss at all, least of all himself or Pete.

“That asshole,” Joe hissed. He shoved the bag he held into Mikey’s hands. “Take this. I have to talk to a guy.” There was a cold anger in his voice that Patrick had never heard in his life, least of all directed at Pete. It was almost terrifying. 

“Sweet, ice cream,” Mikey cried, carrying the bag into the kitchen. The concern on his face melted away for the moment as he disappeared into kitchen with the bag. Patrick watched him go, turning back to the fuming boy in front of him.

“Joe, don’t,” he tried. The curly-haired boy didn’t listen. He turned and stalked out the door, half-running down the driveway. The car door was slammed behind him, and the ancient car was peeling off down the street before Patrick could stop him. “It’s not worth it.”

Patrick stood on the Way’s front stoop, staring at the spot where Joe’s car had just been. Mikey appeared at his side, peering after Joe’s car as it’s taillights disappeared around the corner. He pushed a bowl of ice cream into Patrick’s hands. “Well, that’s happening,” he stated eloquently. “Wanna come play MarioKart until my brother gets home?” 

Patrick breathed a heavy sigh and turned back towards the house. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he ushered Mikey inside, and he pulled it out.

_ Incoming Call From Joan J.  _

With a suspicious frown, he pressed answer, putting the phone to his ear. What on Earth could she want?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY IN ADVANCE PLEASE DONT KILL ME BYE

**_PETE_ **

Every time Pete turned his phone on, he was hit with an overwhelming surge of guilt. A picture of him and Patrick stared back at him every time, faces squished together and grinning at the camera. Patrick’s cheeks were red and his hair was plastered to his face with sweat, having helped Pete chase after Bogart just moments before when he got off his leash. 

Pete missed it, before he let his feelings come in and screw everything up.

He couldn’t seem to do anything right, could he?

A text from Ashlee caused his phone to buzz to life, lighting up the screen and blurring out the picture he hated seeing so much. He gave a cursory glance to it, but when he saw the dread  _ r u ok? _ glaring back at him, he frowned and tossed his phone into his beanbag. No, Pete wasn’t okay. He’d  _ kissed Patrick _ , and in doing so he’d messed up their friendship. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it, especially when Ashlee would offer pity and concern. He didn’t deserve pity and concern.

A pounding on the door jolted him from his misery. It seemed endless. After a couple of minutes he realized whoever it was wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, and seeing as Pete was home alone, he might as well answer it.

With a long groan, Pete dragged himself upright, tightening the flannel tied around his waist. He looked like shit in three day old jeans and a stretched out t-shirt that he was pretty sure wasn’t even his. Smelled like shit, too, if the quick sniff he gave himself was anything to go by. He shrugged. He was just planning on telling whoever it was to get lost, anyway. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t taken a shower in ages. 

Pete took his sweet time getting down the stairs, ignoring the incessant knocking on the door. He heaved the heavy door open, rolling his eyes to the heavens as he did so. 

“Can you maybe find your chill and go the fuck awa-” he started, before he was shoved forcefully into the house. The door slammed behind them, and he blinked at the sudden appearance of Joe in his personal space. 

“What. The. Fuck,” the younger boy hissed, his face so close that Pete could smell the pizza on his breath. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“I... what?” Pete blinked the blurriness from his eyes, brain whirring as he tried to catch up to more action than he’d seen in the time spent in his room, only leaving for school and to walk the dogs. He managed to get his arms to move enough to push Joe away, glaring at him through the dim light of the foyer. “What the hell, man?”

“I thought you liked him,” Joe snapped, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I thought you might be good enough for him. I was wrong.”

Pete frowned, holding his hands up in what he hoped would be a placating gesture. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, man,” he tried. 

Joe’s glare got even icier, which Pete hadn’t known was possible. He suppressed the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. “I’m  _ talking _ about you breaking Patrick’s heart,” he snapped, taking a step closer. “I’m  _ talking _ about how I  _ trusted _ you, and you told him it was a  _ mistake _ and it didn’t mean anything. How  _ dare _ you, Pete.”

“What? I-” Pete tried, but Joe spoke over him, barrelling on as though he were the Onceler, and Pete was the Lorax. (It was at that moment that he realized he’d spent way too much time around his little brothers in the weeks following the kiss.) 

“Don’t,” Joe hissed. “Don’t say anything you  _ asshole _ . You stay away from Patrick if you know what’s good for you.”

With that, he turned on his heel, wrenching the heavy wooden door open and slamming it behind him. Pete stared at the door until long after he heard Joe’s car pull away. He’d broken Patrick’s heart? What the hell did that mean?

With a resigned sigh, Pete returned to his room, where his phone lit up with another message from Ashlee. He picked up the phone and swiped to reply to her.

 

**To Ashlee:** _ totally lost my chance w/ trick :( _

**From Ashlee:** _ sorry bb… need some help getting over him? I know a girl _

 

Pete took a deep breathe. Was he really going to do this. Joe’s angry face and warning to stay away Patrick crossed his mind, and he swallowed the lump in his throat that came with it. Fine. He’d get over Patrick.

  
**To Ashlee:** _ whats her #? _


	19. NOT AN CHAPTER SORRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read real quick

OKAY SO Basically my laptop is Very Broken, and I can't make it work. We've tried  _everything_ but between finals and AP exams and EOCs it's gonna be put off for at least a couple of weeks before we can get it repaired or get a new one. I'm typing this on my phone right now and I have to go to the public library to work on classwork ha.

I /promise/ I'm not abandoning this fic. I'll be back soon okay? I'm so so so sorry guys.

 

Love y'all so much! Thank you for understanding! <3 <3


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